


A Catalog of Non-Definitive Acts

by fbismoak (midwestwind)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bucket List, F/M, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, New Year's Eve, Romance, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-30 04:38:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17217128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midwestwind/pseuds/fbismoak
Summary: After a chance meeting on the roof during a Queen Consolidated Christmas party, Oliver commits himself to helping Felicity complete her bucket list. Felicity, who has decided to uproot her life for a fresh start after the New Year, isn't sure she appreciates the help, but finds herself getting it anyway.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from richard siken's "litany in which certain things are crossed out". i wanted to do a holiday fic, but a) i knew i wouldn't have time to get it published before christmas and b) i did the whole big christmas romcom au last year. so i figured i'd try something a little different. it's still a holiday fic, but the focus is more on new years. and the goal is to get the second part finished and published before new years, but we'll see.
> 
> this was supposed to be a oneshot, but the word count got away from me a bit so now it's a two-parter. it's rated as it is because there's smut in the next part, but this part is pretty pg. enjoy!

Oliver thinks that if he has to shake one more kiss-ass, fake smiling executive’s hand, he’s going to throw himself through one of the floor to ceiling windows that make up the penthouse offices. His mother pinches his arm at his side, noticing the sour expression most likely beginning to form on his face as the woman in front of him continues speaking.

 

It’s not his fault. He’s always hated the Bowens.

 

He pastes on a smile and nods genially, pretending to listen to his high school rival’s mom prattle on about this book deal and that medical degree. He’s used to the kind of conversation she’s making – smarmy one-upmanship. It’s exhausting. And he feels like he’s been at it for hours.

 

The Bowens move on and he sneaks a look at the watch on his wrist. In reality, they’ve only been making pleasantries for a little over an hour. His mother squeezes his arm gently, pulling his attention. He offers a sheepish look, feeling caught looking down at his watch, counting the minutes until all these people leave.

 

“It’s alright,” she sighs, tilting her head towards the long banquet table setup with refreshments, a bar at the end of it. “Take a break, get a drink.”

 

He nods, leaving her with a kiss on the cheek to cross the room. Oliver bypasses the hors d’oeuvres and small desserts to head straight for the bar. He orders a short tumbler of whiskey and secludes himself into a corner. He can see one of the executive’s young assistants eying him hungrily from across the room and maybe, if it were a year ago, he would have jumped at the opportunity.

 

Instead, he turns away from the party at large, looking through the glass walls that face out towards the elevator bay. The door to the staircase next to them swings open suddenly and a short blonde rushes into the atrium. She halts at the sight of all the people, easing the door shut quietly behind her. Oliver watches her curiously, startled at her appearance and the lack of adherence to dress code for the party.

 

When she moves slowly along the wall, keeping an eye on the party in case someone should notice her but completely oblivious to his gaze, only to sneak through the door on the other side labeled ‘roof access’. And then his mild interest turns to concern.

 

Setting his drink back down on the bar, he gives a cursory look around the room and then slips out the doors closest to him into the atrium where the woman had appeared. He slips through the roof access door just in time to hear the second door, situated up another flight of stairs, slam closed behind the woman. He follows her ascent, pushing the door open into the cold winter air.

 

She’s standing in the middle of the roof, the wind making the ponytail at the back of her head sway wildly. Her hands are shoved into the pockets of her coat, but he notices a camera dangling from her wrist. It also moves with the wind, but less due to its weight.

 

“Hey,” he shouts over the wind, halfway on the roof. He holds the door ajar, knowing that if it swings shut they both could end up stranded up here.

 

The woman, already looking frozen in place, goes somehow more rigid at the sound of his voice. She spins, the soles of her short heels kicking up the gravel that covers the roof and sending it scattering around her feet.

 

“You know this door locks automatically, right?” He calls, tilting his head at her. “And I don’t really think that just anyone is supposed to be up here.”

 

She looks caught, glancing back at the lip of the roof over her shoulder. He wonders what she’d come up here for and, worse, if she might make a break for the edge while he watches. Oliver decides not to wait for her to decide. He scoops up a sturdy enough rock – left next to the door, most likely by someone on one of the higher levels who uses this spot for smoke breaks – and sets it between the door and the frame, keeping it from locking them on the roof when he releases it. He crosses towards her and her hands pull from her pockets, tangling together anxiously in front of her instead.

 

“Sorry,” she says suddenly, spurred into action by him advancing on her. “I, uh, I didn’t think anybody would notice if I snuck up here for a minute.”

 

“I noticed,” he offers, a little obviously. “And you’re lucky I did or you might have been stuck up here.”

 

“I’d have found my way down,” she says stubbornly. But the words only unsettle him further. Does he want to know what her idea of a way down is?

 

“Like I said,” he repeats. “I don’t think anyone is supposed to be up here.”

 

“I know,” she admits, biting down on her lip and offering him a sheepish shrug. “But I figured security wouldn’t be as tight with the party going on, you know? So, I thought it was my best chance at going undetected. Clearly, I was wrong.”

 

Now that he’s standing just a couple feet from her, Oliver is realizing she’s beautiful. Her eyes flash with the lights of the surrounding skyscrapers, the bright light pouring from around them lighting the roof enough for him to make out the blue of them. Her cheeks are flushed pink from the cold.

 

“What are you doing up here anyway?” He asks, frowning at her.

 

“It’s kind of a long story,” she hedges and, honestly, Oliver isn’t even sure he wants to press. He just wants to make sure that his father’s company doesn’t make headlines tomorrow because this girl took a swan dive off the roof. It’d be a long way down.

 

Before he can make up his mind, though, she’s launching into an explanation,

 

“I’m terrified of heights. Like, panicky, shaking, throwing up kind of terrified. So, you know, I thought the best way to conquer a fear is just to immerse yourself in it and, go big or go home right? I mean, this building is  _ huge _ , plus I already had access so-”

 

“How?” He asks, cutting her off. She seems startled by the interruption, confused. “How did you have access?”

 

“I, uh,” she starts, suddenly avoiding his gaze. “I work here.”

 

“So, you’re afraid of heights,” he summarizes. “But, for some reason, you’re standing on one of the tallest buildings in the city.”

 

“To conquer my fear,” she says, like he’s being purposely obtuse. She glances back over her shoulder, to the edge of the building. “Actually, do you think you could do me a favor?”

 

“What?” He laughs, incredulous that she would ask something of him when she isn’t even supposed to be here.

 

“Yeah, here, just,” she says, unlooping the camera from her wrist and shoving it into his hands. He stares down at it, surprised, and when he looks back up she’s slowly making her way to the edge of the building. He follows after her.

 

“Hey- what- no!” He calls. “We’re not having some kind of photoshoot. You’re not supposed to be up here.”

 

“Like you always do what your told,” she says, shooting him a smirk over her shoulder. There’s something devilish there and he realizes she must know who he is. Who doesn’t nowadays? “Just take one photo of me at the edge, okay? And then you can go back to your party and you’ll never have to hear from me again.”

 

He huffs, annoyed at being given orders, but she reaches the edge and he sees her posture change. Tense once again, now that the reality of her decision is right in front of her. Still, she hesitates only another moment before turning back to him and easing herself up onto the concrete lip. He takes a nervous step forward as she settles into a seated position.

 

“Just take the picture,” she calls, her voice tight. “Please.”

 

Frowning down at the camera, he realizes it’s one of those instant cameras. Nothing fancy. He snaps the photo, the flash blinding both of them for a second, and the camera whirrs as it prints out the small picture. The woman pushes off of the ledge, eager to be away from it, and snags the camera from his hand before the picture comes out.

 

“Thanks,” she offers, the word clipped. He chalks it up to the nerves over what she’d just done and nods. She leads the way back to the door, seeming eager to get off the roof now that she’s accomplished what she’d set out to do. Oliver isn’t sure this could be considered a conquering of her fear, but he’s just glad it’s getting her off the roof.

 

“Oh, hey, one more thing,” she says as they reach the door. They’re just inside now, at the top landing of the staircase, and Oliver lets the door fall shut behind him.

 

The woman spins suddenly and, with their proximity, Oliver’s reflexes aren’t quick enough to counter the move. She presses into his space, her hand coming up to land on his bicep as she pushes up on her toes and kisses him. He reacts on instinct, kissing her back before he really realizes what he’s doing.

 

It’s not the worst thing that’s happened to him tonight.

 

Behind closed lids, he sees a bright flash and hears the whirring of her camera again. The woman pulls away from him, but the stickiness of her lip gloss lingers on his lips. When he opens his eyes, she’s staring up at him, fallen back down to her usual height. The camera stops whirring, the photo printed, and the stairwell goes silent.

 

“Uh,” he offers eloquently.

 

“Thanks again,” she says, shooting him a bright but false smile, and then she darts down the stairs and back out the door.

 

And Oliver isn’t sure what just happened.

 

\---

 

Felicity can’t believe last night really happened. The guts, the steel stomach, the absolute  _ balls _ it took for her to do any of that seems insane. Yet, the proof is sitting in front of her on her desk in the form of two shaky polaroids. The one on the rooftop has her caught, mid-panic, as the wind ruffles her hair and the hem of her coat and her mind runs through all the different ways she could tumble off the building. It’s dark enough, taken far enough away that none of that shows. But she remembers it clearly.

 

The photo from the stairwell is brighter, but blurred. She remembers her hands shaking, the way she’d needed to take the photo quick. God, she’d really just up and kissed Oliver Queen. What was she thinking? It’ll be lucky if she doesn’t end up fired before her two weeks notice even starts. Her only saving grace is that she’d never introduced herself to him.

 

He’d probably forgotten about her the moment she’d left his sight.

 

Someone clears their throat from the doorway next to her cubicle and she startles back to the present.

 

“Felicity Smoak?” A vaguely familiar voice asks and she looks up. The pen in her hand falls to her desk, rolling across the surface. He smiles charmingly. “Hi. I’m Oliver Queen.”

 

“I know who you are,” she says before she can stop her stupid, traitorous mouth. She rushes on, “You’re  _ Mister _ Queen.”

 

“No,” he says immediately, “Mr. Queen was my father.”

 

“Right, but he’s dead,” she says, because something about having Oliver Queen standing in her doorway has absolutely fried her brain. “I mean, he  _ passed _ … I mean-”

 

She squeezes her eyes shut, sure her face must be the color of her pen by now. One deep breath, count to three, and-

 

“How did you find me?” She asks. Somehow her inability to act like a normal human being hasn’t sent him running, but she realizes that he could just be here to reprimand her for last night. God, what is  _ wrong _ with her?

 

“My family owns the company,” he points out. And, yes, she’s aware. “Which makes it pretty easy to get everyone’s personnel file and their company ID photo.”

 

“Oh,” she frowns. “Right.”

 

The room goes silent for a minute and she shoots a concerned glance to the cubicle next to hers. It’s empty. Felicity wonders how long she’d been lost in thought, staring at the polaroids from her adventure last night. At the reminder, she glances down at her desk and hastily shoves the photos into the coloring book next to them.

 

“Look, I’m really sorry about last night,” she says. “But if you came down here to have me fired, I actually only have about three weeks left anyway so-”

 

“I’m not having you fired,” he says and when she looks back up at him, he’s smiling at her expense.

 

“Then, why are you here?” She asks slowly, her face pinching a bit in confusion.

 

“Did you think I was just going to forget the crazy woman who snuck up onto the roof, kissed me for a picture, and then disappeared?” He laughs.

 

“I,” she starts, pouting. “Yeah, I was hoping.”

 

“No such luck,” he sighs.

 

And then, because he’s Oliver Queen and technically he does own the entire building and everything in it, he circles her desk to the empty cubicle next to hers. She watches as he pulls the computer chair away from the desk, rolling it into the space between her desk and her neighbor’s. Felicity’s sure she must look insane, watching him with wide eyes as he settles down into the chair.

 

He settles into it with an easy confidence that, she figures, must come from looking like him. The walls around her cubicle are a bright blue and his eyes reflect them, offset by his light grey sweater that only makes them seem brighter blue, make his skin seem just a little more tan than it had last night in the dark.

 

“You didn’t really answer my question,” she says, snapping herself out of it. Oliver raises an eyebrow at her. “Why are you here?”

 

He leans forward on the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. Felicity straights up as the movement brings him closer to her, his gaze narrowing in on her.

 

“You didn’t really explain anything last night,” he says. “So, I’ve just been trying to figure it out and I decided the best way to do that would be to come right to the source.”

 

“Look, I’m really sorry I kissed you,” she says, deciding to just bite the bullet. “It was incredibly inappropriate and unprofessional. I don’t even have a good reason. But, I swear, it won’t happen again and it’s not, like, a regular thing for me to do. Go around kissing employees of Queen Consolidated. Well, I did go on a date with someone from R&D once, but it was all above board and we didn’t even-”

 

“What was it?” He asks, blessedly cutting her off. She frowns, confused. “The reason.”

 

Felicity’s whole body freezes with the question. Of course he’d want to know the reason. She had, without any warning or regard for his feelings on the matter, put her mouth on his. She owes him an explanation.

 

It’s just that she might die of embarrassment if she gives it.

 

“It was on my bucket list,” she mumbles, tangling her fingers together in her lap to keep them from fidgeting.

 

“What?” He asks and the confused way his brow pinches is almost unrealistically adorable. She huffs out a breath, squeezing her eyes shut and repeating herself, louder this time,

 

“It was on my bucket list.”

 

The room goes quiet for a minute and, unable to bear it, Felicity peaks one eye open slowly and then the other. Oliver is sitting up a little straighter now, no longer leaning towards her, and the confusion on his face has quickly morphed into something more smug.

 

“Kissing me was on your bucket list?” He asks.

 

“No,” she says immediately, defensive. “It was kissing a stranger.”

 

Oliver hums, sounding unconvinced and she glares at him. Spinning in her chair, she grabs her tablet and unlocks it. The document with her transcribed bucket list is already open and she holds it out for him to see, tapping the edge of the casing next to where “kiss a stranger” has been striked through.

 

He squints, leaning forward to take an exaggerated look at the screen. And then he swipes the tablet from her hands. Felicity gives an indignant yelp, not having intended to show him the  _ whole _ list, but the damage is done. Oliver doesn’t seem eager to hand the device back.

 

“But you knew who I was,” he points out. “Does that really count?”

 

“It’s close enough,” she grumbles.

 

“Sure,” he says, like he disagrees but isn’t going to debate it. She’s glaring at him again when he looks up from the tablet, setting it in his lap but not offering it back to her. “So, why exactly are you trying to strike things off your bucket list? Are you dying?”

 

He’s teasing, she can tell, but she doesn’t appreciate it. What’s more, she doesn’t want to answer. Because it had made sense, when she’d started this. When she’d begun with simple things, scribbled in an unkempt handwriting that hadn’t been fully formed yet, and followed them to the letter. Some she’d already done. Others she hadn’t.

 

And he’s so irritatingly beautiful, sitting across from her in that soft-looking sweater with light in his eyes. She’s already leaving her job soon. What could they do to her if she were to smack him right now? (What could they do to her if she were to kiss him once more, just to see?)

 

The errant thought makes her cheeks heat and she wonders if he notices, averts her gaze to the work on her desk she’d been neglecting anyway. The corner of one of the polaroids sticks out of the book she’d shoved them into.

 

“It’s kind of a long story,” she hedges and maybe he’ll leave. She wants him to, she thinks. Or she  _ wants  _ to want him to. Because if he stays in her space much longer, eyes reflecting the blue of the walls, lips turned up in amusement at her or because of her, it’s going to become too much.

 

Instead, he shrugs a little and settles further into the chair. As if he has all the time in the world. Felicity is almost certain he doesn’t. There’s a company he’s meant to be grooming for and she’s pretty sure that comes with a myriad of responsibilities.

 

“Try me,” he says, throwing the challenge down with a quirk of his eyebrow. And she sighs, annoyed but eager to get the encounter over with.

 

She starts,

 

“I’m moving in about a month – right after the new year – and I’ve been doing some packing, you know, just getting rid of some old clutter and trying to figure out what to donate, what to box up. And I came across an old box of things from my mom’s and I found this truly awful looking old notebook. I’m talking pink monkeys on the cover and water damage from years of use and abuse and being stashed in my old apartment with the leaky roofs… Anyway, when I was a kid, I started a bucket list.”

 

“You started a  _ bucket list _ when you were a kid?” He asks, cutting her off with a quiet laugh. She hates the way her chest constricts with the sound, breathy and sudden, like she’d surprised it out of him.

 

“I watched a lot of TV,” she shrugs. “ _ Anyway _ , I kind of kept the stupid thing in high school and for a while in college. So, I was adding to it every now and then, but I’d pretty much forgotten about it and then I found it. And, like I said, I’m moving and quitting my job and it just- I don’t know, it seemed like a good time. So, I’m trying to finish everything on the list, that’s feasible, before the end of the year.”

 

Oliver hums contemplatively. He lifts the tablet again and she can see the way his eyes scan over the document. He begins to read some of them aloud.

 

“Try every type of Pringle,” he starts with.

 

“They are not all winners,” she says, shuddering at the reminder. He gives that laugh again, but reads on as she nods along to the ones she’s crossed off. Solve a Rubik’s cube. Write a computer code. Buy alcohol. He raises an eyebrow at ‘hack a government agency’ and she gives him a coy shrug.

 

“Okay,” he says, handing the tablet back to her. “How can I help?”

 

“Excuse me?” She laughs.

 

“What can I say?” He asks, holding his hands up in front of him, palms towards the ceiling. “You’ve convinced me. I’m tagging along.”

 

“What? No, I wasn’t-” She argues, but his phone chimes and he turns his hand over, checking the smart watch on his wrist. She sees his mood shift, his face shuttering as he reads the notification.

 

“I have to go,” he says, pushing up out the chair. “But, I’ll come by tomorrow at the end of the day and we can get started.”

 

He’s gone before she has another chance to argue, shock setting in and rendering her silent. He gives her a short wave just before he disappears out of the office and she stares after him, slack jawed.

 

She isn’t sure what just happened.

 

\---

 

“Finish a coloring book,” he reads aloud, sitting across from her once more. She still doesn’t love the idea of him seeing her whole list, but has given up on the idea of keeping him away from this. He had, indeed, come back to her office and walked her to her car. And then, he’d suggested she follow him to a little diner a few blocks over.

 

He rides a motorcycle. Because of course he does.

 

They’re sitting across the table from each other, in a corner towards the back. It’s away from the wide front window and the door that chimes each time a customer drifts in from the cold. She can hear each sound coming out of the kitchen – the scrapes of knives on cutting boards, of coffee machines working overtime to keep up with the need for a warm beverage, of oil sizzling over heat as cooks drench each food item in it.

 

Felicity sighs, reaching into her bag and producing the coloring book from within. She sets it on the table between them with a little extra flare and regrets it immediately. The movement causes the polaroids she’d forgotten she’d stuffed within to fall from it and land on the table in front of Oliver.

 

He picks them up before she can stop him.

 

“These are nice,” he says quietly and she tries not to analyze the way his gaze lingers on one of them, tries not to wonder if he’s staring at her – pink cheeked and caught in the wind – sitting on the edge of the building. Or if it’s the moment she kissed him, surged up on an impulse of bravery and answered a question that has plagued the office gossip for years;  _ What is it like to kiss Oliver Queen? _

 

Plenty of women in Starling seem to know and now, in a way, so does Felicity.

 

He hands the polaroids back to her with gentle fingers and she slides them into one of the smaller pockets on her purse. When she looks up, he’s flipping through the coloring book. Most of the pages are finished, she knows. She’s been working on it every spare moment and it’s actually been a great stress reliever as she’s prepared for the move.

 

“Okay, so you clearly have that one handled,” he says, setting the book down and looking back to the list on her tablet. She itches to take it from him, to delete the more embarrassing entries put in by a teenaged Felicity. “A lot of these are definitely doable. Especially now that you have me in your corner.”

 

“Lucky me,” she offers glibly and he shoots her a dark look.

 

“You know, I thought you’d be a lot more receptive to my help,” he says quietly and she can tell, with some regret, that she’s hurt his feelings. Sees him retreat into himself a bit as he twists the string hanging from the teabag in his mug around his finger with ease.

 

“Why exactly  _ are  _ you helping me?”

 

“You know us listless billionaires,” he says with a shrug. “Always looking for something to occupy the time.”

 

He says it easily, but straightens a bit in his chair as he does. Something about the words ring false to her, like they’re a reaction rather than an actual answer. Felicity leans forward, resting her chin on her hand and narrowing her eyes at him. He gives nothing.

 

And she’d be lying if she said that didn’t pique her curiosity. If she said the way he’d followed her onto the rooftop, searched her out in the Queen Consolidated basement hadn’t made her want to ask about three hundred and twenty questions. But it’s more than that. It’s the easy charm that fades into self depreciation. The way he can laugh at her bucket list one moment and shut down the next based on a notification on his watch.

 

He might be a mystery. And she might be a sucker. But they’re probably both doomed.

 

“Okay, fine,” she says, shrugging and sitting back in her seat. “You’ve convinced me.”

 

“I have?” He frowns, surprised by her sudden change of heart. She figures even he doesn’t believe his own bullshit.

 

“I know you’re lying,” she says, waving her hand dismissively. Because the lie doesn’t matter. They’re hardly friends. “And I’m gonna figure out why, that’s just a given. But, strangely…”

 

Now Oliver is the one leaning forward, just a touch, hanging on her words. When she drifts off, his eyebrow ticks up in response.

 

“‘Strangely’,” he echoes, “What?”

 

“I don’t know  _ why _ ,” she admits. “But, strangely, I feel like I can trust you.”

 

There’s a beat of silence — not real silence, as the diner continues to move around them. And then Oliver smiles at her and it’s different than the man who stands beside his mother at events and press conferences. It’s softer, smaller. Real. Her stomach flips in response to it and, yeah, what was she thinking about being doomed earlier?

 

“Good,” he says, nodding. “Because you can trust me.”

 

God, she hopes she’s not wrong.

 

“ _ And _ ,” he presses on handing the coloring book back to her, “I know where we can start.”

 

“Start?” She frowns.

 

“With the list,” he says and now the smile is at her expense, she can tell. He’s suddenly reaching into a pocket within his jacket and pulling out his wallet. He pulls out a few bills for their drinks and Felicity  _ would _ stop him, but he’s literally a billionaire. He can afford her latte.

 

Then he pulls out a small bit of white card stock and holds it out to her. She recognizes the company-wide branded business card. His name is in all capital, bold lettering, settled dead center. As if anyone wouldn’t know him on sight. There’s no title under it and she wonders if that’s by design or a sign of the limbo he’s been in for months.

 

“What’s this?” She asks a little dumbly. Stops. Corrects herself. “I mean, why are you giving this to me?”

 

“It has my cell number on it,” he explains, standing from his chair, preparing to leave her in this unfamiliar diner. “Text me your address and I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning, around ten.”

 

“Wha-?” She starts, staring down at the card in her hand. Oliver’s movement pulls her focus and she stops him before he can leave. “Hey! Aren’t you going to tell me what we’re doing?”

 

“Why ruin the surprise?” He shrugs, sending her an easy wink. And then he’s leaving, calling goodbye to someone in the kitchen like he knows them personally.

 

There’s still steam rising from Felicity’s mug, but she slips the card into the pocket with the photos after a few minutes and follows his lead.

 

\---

 

Part of her hates herself when she gives in and sends Oliver her address. She half expects it to be some kind of prank. Some way of mocking her that she hasn’t figured out yet.  _ New phone who dis? _ But Oliver texts back a thumbs up emoji and a smiley emoji and a reminder to be ready at 10am. And, the truth is, Felicity would hate herself more for not taking him up on the offer. Because the whole point of the list is to be spontaneous, to act outside of her norms.

 

Plus, Oliver Queen has landed himself firmly in Felicity’s mental ‘mystery’ box and she’s always been bad at walking away from those.

 

He shows up at 10:32 and she’s significantly annoyed with him from the jump.

 

“Are you ever on time?” She bites as he meets her on her front porch. Her frustration is more with the situation. With the fact that, during his 32 minutes of tardiness, she had talked herself in and out of cancelling so many times that her anxiety nearly had her running back upstairs to hide under her blankets.

 

He frowns, most of the expression hidden beneath his sunglasses. Still, Felicity sees the moment her bad mood infects him. His posture changes, shoulders tightening, and a muscle in his jaw ticks. She can almost imagine the sound of his teeth grinding together.

 

“Pretty much,” he grumbles, except it’s much more of a pout and it’s stupid that that alone makes her want to forgive him.

 

“Are you finally going to tell me where we’re going?” She asks instead. Oliver doesn’t answer, waving at the sporty looking car in her driveway and ignoring the question.

 

“I brought you coffee,” he says, turning and retreating to the car. Felicity considers, once more, just to say she did, calling the whole thing off.

 

She doesn’t. And he did bring her coffee. It’s black and terrible, but she says thank you because she has manners and manages to drink half of it as they make their way out of the city. The longer they drive on the interstate, the more her anxiety builds. She finishes a page and a half in her coloring book before the movement of the car begins to make her nauseous.

 

“Oliver, seriously,” she says once the coffee has made her jittery and they begin passing mile markers she’s doesn’t recognize. “ _ Where _ are we  _ going _ ?”

 

“You’re impatient,” he says, surlier than she expected him to be. Where is the light, charming man who’d wandered into her office? She huffs, annoyed that he expects her to be so easily taken by him.

 

“A man I just met two days ago has somehow conned me into some sort of road trip with him, outside of the city, and won’t tell me where we’re going,” she argues. “I don’t even recognize this interstate anymore.”

 

“That’s,” he starts, sounding like he might argue, but then he sighs and finishes with, “Fair.”

 

She gives him a sarcastic smile. He ignores it.

 

“My parents have some friends who own a winery out in Woodinville,” he explains. “I figured we’d take a tour.”

 

“‘Go wine tasting,’” she sighs, sitting back in her seat. The addition to her list had been one she’d written while in college. After a night of cheap wine and Thai food, she and Cooper, her boyfriend at the time, had sworn they’d go tour a winery one day. She’d said something about it seeming romantic, he’d suggested it was a good way to get drunk.

 

They never made it anyway.

 

“It’s on your list,” he adds, unnecessarily. Like she doesn’t basically have the thing memorized by now. She’d stared at it for weeks after she found it, trying to figure out what to do with it now that she had it again.

 

“Yeah, no, I know,” she says, shifting in her seat. “It’s just…”

 

“Just?” He prompts, shooting her a look when she lapses into silence.

 

“It’s stupid,” she says. “But, when I wrote that, I thought I’d be doing it with someone else.” She flinches. “ _ It  _ being going wine tasting, not, you know, any other… its.”

 

Felicity squeezes her eyes shut, unsurprised by Oliver’s silence. How does one even respond to what she’s just dropped on him? She can’t imagine any way for him to take it other than a) she doesn’t want to be here with him and b) she literally cannot control her fucking mouth. And, on that note, her mouth begins running again.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like- I mean, I’m appreciative of you taking me to this place. I’m sure you had to call in a favor and it’s probably nicer than any place I could afford. Which isn’t to say that’s why I’m glad you’re taking me, I just mean- well… You know, you can stop me any time you like.”

 

“I was actually waiting to see how long you could go without taking a breath,” he says, dryly and it takes her a moment to realize he’s teasing her. She deflates some, trying not to pout but knowing exactly what it looks like as she slouches back into her seat.

 

It would be lovely if they could go more than ten minutes without one of them offending the other.

 

“So, who was it?” He asks, softer this time and she knows he’s trying to get back in her good graces. She tries to decide if he’d ever been there in the first place. The stairwell kiss comes to mind. “The person you thought you’d be going with?”

 

“Oh, just my boyfriend from college,” she shrugs, hoping not to make it sound like more than it is. It’s not like she’d  _ want _ Cooper to be here for this, she hasn’t even really thought about him in years. But he’s just another failed relationship to add to her growing pile. One more person she’d let herself dream of forever with before ultimately ending up heartbroken. 

 

She presses on, “He was kind of a dick, though. His whole thing was that wine was too girly and he only drank it when he was with me because it made me-”

 

Felicity stops, her mouth snapping shut as she swallows the rest of the sentence. She’s suddenly painfully aware of who she’s talking to and how very little they know about each other. Oliver frowns, but doesn’t look away from the road. The conversation with Cooper had been so long ago and she just sort of remembers it in that way you remember something hurtful someone said about you, even if you brushed it off as a joke.

 

Not that Cooper had  _ meant _ the comment as a slight. Just that it had made her self-conscious about her love of wine for a few weeks following. And when she’d started dating after him, had kept herself to other beverages with dinner for a while.

 

“Made you what?” Oliver asks and it’s innocent she knows, because how could he know what her tool of an ex-boyfriend from when she was practically still a teenager had said. But, god, she didn’t mean to actually  _ tell  _ him.

 

“Um,” she stalls. “Flirty. I guess wine makes me flirty.”

 

_ Horny _ had been Cooper’s word, but she doesn’t really know Oliver that well. It’s not that she didn’t know the drink made her a little extra frisky, but Cooper had hardly needed the help in getting her to sleep with him back then. Still, she wishes she didn’t remember the conversation from so long ago,  _ really _ wishes she hadn’t accidentally brought it up now.

 

Oliver clears his throat, shifting in his seat and she wonders if he understood the underlying context despite her efforts.

 

“Well, I’ll make sure you keep your hands to yourself,” he says simply, his fingers flexing on the wheel. He glances over at her, winking, and she flushes. She sinks down into her seat and glares at the unfamiliar mile markers as they pass, hoping they aren’t terribly far from the winery.

 

\---

 

The winery Oliver’s family friend runs isn’t busy, which is good, but it also isn’t very well heated, which is bad. Felicity figures that December isn’t exactly a busy time for tours and they must not keep the heat very high, especially in the cellars where the wine actually is. 

 

There’s a few other people in the group. An older couple leads the group, their arms linked together as a guide leads them through the expansive building and tells them about each glass they’re handed. A group of young women that Felicity would guess are college students on break giggle and clink their glasses together, taking delicate sips and saying things she’s sure they learned from TV.

 

For his part, Oliver is mostly quiet. He’d chatted with the older woman when they’d arrived, charming as ever. Felicity doubts he doesn’t see the glances he earns from the group of girls in front of them, but he doesn’t comment or feed into it. He asks her opinion on each of the wines they try. She admittedly knows very little about fine wine other than each glass tastes better than the last.

 

Towards the end of the tour, their guide leads them into a large room with plush looking couches and a bar at one end. There’s a fireplace burning on one side of the room, but the older couple quickly take up the real estate near it. Oliver leads Felicity towards the bar instead.

 

“Pick something,” he directs as they settle onto their stools.

 

“What?” Felicity frowns.

 

“My treat,” he says, waving a hand towards the wall of wines on display. The bartender, free of any other guests to serve, hovers near them. He drops his voice, “And, before you argue, this whole tour was free. Let me buy you a glass of wine.”

 

She holds his stare for a minute, still prepared to argue, before sighing. “Fine. That rosé we tried would be nice.”

 

Oliver looks over at the bartender who’s already moving towards the shelf, clearly knowing which wines are offered on the tour.

 

“So, how did I do?” He asks, once the wine has been opened and poured into glasses in front of them. Felicity makes a show of swirling it in her glass, the way she’d watched the older couple do with each glass they had been handed on the tour.

 

“‘Do’?” She echoes.

 

“With your first wine tasting? Did it live up to your expectations?”

 

Felicity hums, pretending to consider the question with some degree of seriousness. She takes a long drink of the pink wine from her glass. The movement leaves behind an imprint of her lipstick on the clear surface.

 

“I guess it’ll do,” she sighs dramatically, dangling the glass between her fingers. He stares at her for a moment and she gives in, winking at him. It earns her a short laugh and a small shake of his head.

 

He moves suddenly, pulling his phone from the pocket of his jeans.

 

“Hold still,” he says and Felicity frowns. Oliver holds his phone up and she realizes he’s taking a picture. The silly polaroid camera she’s been using for her pictures is tucked into her purse, but she indulges him, holding the glass up a little higher and looking off as if he’s captured her in a candid moment.

 

“How’s it look?” She asks once he’s lowered his phone, looking at the photo they’d staged.

 

“It’s perfect,” he says, setting his phone down and lifting his own glass. He holds it out and she knocks hers gently against it.

 

Maybe it’s the wine, but  _ perfect _ feels like a pretty good descriptor.

 

\---

 

Oliver suggests they try to mark one or two things off her list every day. Felicity suggests that they should probably get to know each other a little better if he’s going to insist on spending every day with her from now until they finish the list. He seems hesitant at the prospect, as if getting to know her – or maybe her getting to know him – makes him want to squirm right out of his skin. But she’s the one with the list, so he agrees.

 

The day after the wine tasting, he shows up with a thousand piece puzzle and a bottle of red wine. Felicity splits the evening between working on the coloring book, putting the puzzle together with Oliver and trying to learn more about him.

 

She finds the latter to be increasingly difficult. Felicity is somewhat of an open book, even when she doesn’t want to be. It’s a nerves thing. She talks when she’s uncomfortable and, well, she’s often uncomfortable. Especially with Oliver. He puts her off balance just a bit.

 

It’s strange and uncomfortable, but she’s not sure it’s a bad thing.

 

He, on the other hand, is much more monosyllabic than their initial encounters would have made her believe. Even as the wine bottle empties and the puzzle is a little over halfway assembled, she feels like she’s learned nothing about him that she couldn't have found from the Queen Consolidated website or a gossip rag.

 

By the end of the night all she’s learned about Oliver is that he’s not nearly as outgoing and friendly as his insistence on following her around on her bucket list adventure may have insinuated.

 

He’s also irritatingly good at  _ everything _ .

 

“You swear you’ve never done this before?” She asks, glaring down at the burnt food in front of her on the counter. “No secret sessions with five-star chefs? You didn’t used to help with dinner as a kid?”

 

“Felicity, I grew up with a household staff,” he frowns. “I didn’t help cook.”

 

Even as he says it, he takes the handle of the pan in front of him and flicks his wrist. The perfectly colored pancake lifts, flips in the air and lands back on the teflon surface. She could punch him. He turns to look at her with a proud little grin and finds her staring sourly at him.

 

“You can’t be mad at me for this,” he pouts. “It’s your bucket list.”

 

Felicity lets out a quiet, nonsensical grumble and takes a spatula to the burnt pancake in her pan. It sticks to the teflon as she scrapes at it. She’s pretty sure the whole point of teflon is that it’s not supposed to let food stick to it.

 

“That’s very impressive, Oliver,” the woman teaching the cooking class says, moving down the aisles in her personal monogrammed apron. 

 

Felicity doesn’t hate her for any reason other than pettiness at anyone who can cook better than her – which is apparently everyone. But she also hasn’t missed the way the woman’s eyes rove over Oliver each time she comes by to pay him a compliment, nor had she been able to ignore the way she’d wrapped her hand around Oliver’s on the handle of the pan as she’d shown him how to flick his wrist to properly flip the pancake. A treatment she had very much  _ not _ given Felicity.

 

She’s well aware jealousy is a truly terrible look on her.

 

Oliver’s wall of charm goes up and Felicity realizes she’s beginning to tell the difference between his real charm and the kind he uses when he’d rather be anywhere else than engaging in social interaction. Or maybe it’s wishful thinking in the way she sees his shoulders tighten under their instructors attentions, his fingers tightening on the pain as he shifts uncomfortably. Still, he offers her a kind smile and thanks her for the compliment.

 

She moves on and Felicity goes back to hacking at the burnt pancake batter sticking to her pan. A flash to her right startles her, pulling her attention.

 

“Hey!” She cries, finding Oliver holding a polaroid in his hand, waiting for the ink to form into an image. He must have retrieved the polaroid from where she’d set it on top of her bag and it now dangles by its strap from his wrist. She glares at him.

 

“What?” He laughs, and even when it’s at her expense she appreciates the sound. “You wanted pictures.”

 

“Not of the failures,” she pouts, giving up on salvaging the pan and letting it drop to the stovetop. It gives a clatter, but no one else in the room seems to care.

 

“The list said ‘take a cooking class’,” Oliver sighs. He gives the polaroid a shake before aborting the movement halfway through, presumably remembering how Felicity had yelled at him for it the last time he’d done it. “Not ‘become a five star chef in one afternoon.’”

 

“Easy for you to say,” she complains, stepping away from her stove to wander towards his on their shared counter top. She takes a fork from the pile of utensils and picks at his perfect pancake, cooling on a plate now. She takes a bite and frowns down at it. “Did you put cinnamon in this? She didn’t even tell us to do that!”

 

“Felicity,” he says gently, taking the fork away from her and tucking the polaroid into a pocket on his coat. “Forget the pancakes. Regardless of how well you did, the point was to do it and you did. Not everything is a competition.”

 

She pouts. “You clearly don’t know me very well.”

 

It’s not meant to be a real indictment of their knowledge of one another, but she regrets it as soon as she sees his face fall. It’s a subtle shift and gone as quickly as it comes, replaced by one of those easy false smiles he’s so good at. He leans down, returning her camera to her bag and holding it and her coat out to her.

 

“Well, either way, I’d call this a success,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

She lets him help her into her coat as they thank the instructor for her time and apologize for the mess Felicity has left her with. She waves it off, but Felicity wonders if she’d be as forgiving if it weren’t for Oliver standing next to her.

 

“Are we done for the day?” She asks as they make it out of the warm building and into the brisk December air. Light snow falls from the sky, not quite strong enough to stick but it clings to the fabric of Felicity’s scarf, catches in her hair.

 

She doesn’t mean for the question to sound so disappointed. Oliver turns to look at her and the way his mouth has turned up at one corner, smug but trying so hard to hide it, lets her know it hasn’t gone unmissed.

 

“Not quite,” he says. “I thought we could get a drink. There’s a bar I like not too far from here.”

 

Felicity freezes for a moment, her brain jumping to overthink the invitation. It’s not like they haven’t drank together before – at this point they’ve nearly shared more wine than they have words – but there’s something about the invitation that makes her feel she should tread lightly. Oliver notices her hesitation.

 

“If you’d rather not-”

 

“No!” She says, a bit abruptly, cringing at herself. “Sorry, no, of course. I’d- yeah, I’d really like that.”

 

His face brightens, a wide smile overtaking his features and she’s suddenly so glad she said yes. Even with her hesitance about whatever intentions Oliver may have, that smile on his face – real and bright, making him look young and even more handsome than usual – is well worth whatever trouble he may bring. 

 

Which is probably a very bad sign for her.

 

\---

 

Felicity doesn’t know why she put it on her bucket list, really. It’s just that, at some point, she’d decided that it was the Grown Up thing to do. To go to a bar and, very specifically, order an Old Fashioned. She doubts she’d even known what was in the drink when she’d scribbled it down in her notebook.

 

She’d always imagined herself bathed in black and white, like the heroine in one of those old movies she’d stolen the idea from. Settling onto a stool at some fancy bar, long legs and styled curls, pulling eyes and attentions throughout the room.

 

Instead, she’s wearing a simple skirt and there’s snow stuck in her curls, the wind having whipped them into some kind of mess she can’t worry about. The bar Oliver has brought her to is quiet, nearly empty, and far less fancy than she’d have expected of him. But she slides onto a barstool and crosses one leg over the other. The bare state of the room means she gains the bartender’s attention immediately.

 

“Can I get an Old Fashioned?” she asks, like it should be something exciting and dramatic. The man behind the bar only gives a nod and moves to make the drink. She frowns a little, feeling childish for thinking it should have been more.

 

Oliver had hung back towards the door, but he joins her now, sliding into the space between her and the barstool next to her. He settles an elbow on the bartop, and ignores her for a moment, as if they’re strangers rather than two people who’d come in together. She bites down a laugh at his dedication to the moment, as she had done her best to explain why ‘order an Old Fashioned’ had shown up on her list.

 

When the bartender returns with her drink and gives her the total, Oliver cuts in.

 

“It’s on me,” he says, already sliding a black card across the wooden bartop. Felicity rolls her eyes, but pulls the drink towards her. “I’ll have a vodka soda.”

 

The man doesn’t seem to care who’s paying so long as someone does and takes Oliver’s card. Oliver turns towards her now, still in the space between the two seats. The fabric of his jeans scratches against the bare skin of her calf with his closeness.

 

“Go on,” he prompts. “Big moment here.”

 

She sticks her tongue out at him, but shifts the glass closer. He’d laughed at her on the way over, not meanly, but in that confused way he has when she’s managed to bewilder him, and asked if she’d really never ordered the drink. Honestly, Felicity couldn’t remember ever having done so, so it was better to be thorough.

 

And he’d played along so easily, eager to try and make the moment live up to her fantasies.

 

Felicity makes a show of it, swirling the glass to make the liquid and orange slice within spin inside. She sniffs it, holds it up in a cheers motion to Oliver who’s own drink has just been delivered, and then takes a sip.

 

And immediately recoils. Turns out, she’s still very much not a whiskey girl. She swallows the drink down, not wanting to make a show of her distaste for the whole bar to see, but Oliver notices. He chuckles and gently takes the glass from her, swapping it out for his vodka soda.

 

“I probably should have expected that,” she admits, letting out a small laugh. “I’ve never been much of a whiskey drinker.”

 

“Well, lucky for you, I am,” he says. “I took a chance with the vodka soda, though.”

 

“It’s perfect,” she assures him, happy to wash the taste of the whiskey down with the citrus-y vodka. “Wait, what about my picture?”

 

“I already got it,” he says, fishing the orange peel out of his hand-me-down drink and setting to the side on a napkin.

 

“You did?” She frowns.

 

“I took one while you were ordering,” he explains, wiping his fingers on the napkin. He unzips his coat pocket, pulling two polaroids from within and setting them on the bar top.

 

The first is from the cooking class and Felicity cringes at the sight. She’s glaring down at the ruined pancake, her tongue sticking out slightly as she scrapes at it with her spatula. It’s not her finest moment but maybe she’ll laugh at it some day.

 

The old fashioned photo is a little darker, taken from a further distance as she sits at the bar talking to the bartender. She has to admit, Oliver has some level of artistic eye. It’s not black and white or anything like she’d imagined, but she’s bathed in the golden light of the bar and her crossed legs look amazing. She’d almost call it a shot from a movie.

 

“Do you just want to follow me around taking pictures of me forever?” She teases, running her finger over the edge of the polaroid. 

 

Oliver just shakes his head at her, a small smile lighting his features as he finally settles into the seat next to hers. It pulls him out of her space and Felicity finds herself surprised at how much she hadn’t minded him there.

 

They stay for a few drinks, not doing much more but continuing to scrape the surface of getting to know each other. Felicity pulls her tablet out to scratch the things they’d done over the day off her list. 

 

Oliver looks it over again, teasing her about some of the more childish things. She tries not to blush when he reaches the risqué parts of the list, added during college when she’d watched too many movies and had too little sex. She laughs them off, commenting that obviously only some parts of the list are attainable. Oliver seems more flustered by her list than her which she finds oddly endearing. Still, she forces them to move on.

 

“Can I ask you something?” He asks quietly, once they’re into their second round of drinks and have put the list away once more. Caught off guard, because that’s usually her line, Felicity simply nods. “What’s the deal with the list? Really, I mean. Why try to finish it now, by the end of the year?”

 

“The truth?” She prompts, though it’s more of a stalling technique.

 

“The truth,” Oliver nods, seeing right through her she thinks.

 

Felicity takes a sip of her drink instead of answering right away, trying to decide how much to tell him. In this case, at least, she wants to be careful. Because she’s given so much more of herself to him than he has given of himself in return and it’s not a big deal usually, because she always gives more of herself to people than she intends to. But, this? It’s more than fun facts about herself and little tidbits she might tell anyone.

 

Finally, she gives in.

 

“The truth is,” she starts, twisting her glass and watching the ice rattle within. “It’s been kind of a rough year for me. I was in a serious relationship and, well, that ended which was hard. Then I found out that my supervisor has no intention of ever submitting me for promotion review – mostly because he knows I’m wildly more competent than he is – which means that I had set myself up to be trapped in this dead-end, but pays well job for the rest of my life, just absolutely wasting my skills and degrees.”

 

She stops for a breath when she realizes she’s gone off track and probably shouldn’t be ranting about incompetence to the future CEO of the company.

 

“Anyway,” she goes on, shaking her head at herself. “It got me to kind of evaluate things and I realized, I don’t really have anything in Starling to keep me here. All of my friends are work friends or they were my boyfriend’s friends. I was never that girl who had a ton of people around her, but I was never the type of girl to define myself by one thing or one person, either.”

 

She bites down on her lip, shooting a furtive look over at Oliver. His eyes are on her, caught up with her words. Maybe there should be some sort of regret for having shared so much, but she can’t find it. Felicity reaches for her drink again.

 

“Long story short, I realized I needed a change,” she finishes, running her finger over the lip of the glass. “So, I applied to a few places that had been trying to poach me away from QC and signed onto a job. Then, like I said, I found the list while I was packing and – it’s stupid, I know – but I thought that this could all be a part of my new start, you know?”

 

“That’s not stupid,” he says, shaking his head as Felicity looks back over to him. “I think we all want to believe it’s not too late to be a different person than we have been.”

 

“Yeah,” she breathes.

 

Suddenly, his eyes on her become too much and she has to look away. Across from her, behind the lines of bottles of alcohol, a mirror reflects them back at her. Oliver’s gaze it still on her, but it moves away, onto his own drink – a short tumbler of whiskey now, rather than an Old Fashioned. Felicity lifts her glass of vodka and soda water, watching herself take a drink.

 

She clears her throat, setting the glass back down and turning to him once again.

 

“So, what about you?” She asks. “What  _ really _ made you track me down after the rooftop and start following me around with this?”

 

Oliver doesn’t seem surprised to have the tables turned on him. Rather, he turns on his seat so he’s facing her more fully, his knee knocking gently against her own where her legs are still crossed over one another.

 

“I don’t know,” he says and, in any other instance, she might consider it a stall. But the openness in his gaze, the earnestness there, makes her believe that he really doesn’t understand it either. “I just saw you on that rooftop doing this absolutely insane, incredibly brave thing and… there was just something about you.”

 

“I was about to puke on your shoes,” she points out, laughing a little and tucking her hair back, trying to deflect the compliment.

 

“I thought you were remarkable,” he says resolutely and Felicity’s breath freezes in her chest for a moment. “I just… I felt like I could learn something from you.”

 

“Learn what?” She presses, unable to save herself from her own curiosity. At that, Oliver frowns and it’s his turn to shift his attention, looking away from her. But Felicity can’t take her eyes off of him now.

 

“You’re not the only one trying to redefine yourself,” he admits quietly, nearly lost in the generic bar sounds around them.

 

Felicity considers him for a moment before she says, “Well, you’re right. It’s not too late to be different.”

 

Oliver looks back over at her, something like surprise in his eyes, and offers her a small, grateful smile. She doesn’t even mind it when they finish their drinks mostly in silence. Oliver switches to water while Felicity orders one last drink, realizing they’ve spent longer in the bar than they had intended. When Oliver drops her off at her house, it’s normal. She doesn’t contemplate the weirdness of him walking her up to her door until they’re standing on her porch, awkwardly shuffling their feet in front of one another.

 

“Well, thanks,” she says. “Despite my burnt pancake, I’d call today’s events a success.”

 

“Good,” he smiles. Then he pats his pockets, pulling the photos he’d taken of her out of one of them and holding them out to her. “Here, you’re gonna want these.”

 

She thanks him again, taking the photos and admiring the one from the bar once more. She can feel Oliver’s eyes on her.

 

“You know, Oliver,” she starts quietly, looking up at him again. “Whatever kind of person you were that you think you need to reinvent yourself from, who you are  _ now _ I… I think you’re remarkable, too.”

 

He seems caught off guard by the words, his brow pinching a bit in surprise as he stares down at her. She almost takes it back, unnerved by the silence she’s created between them, but Oliver’s hands come up to the sides of her face, palms curving around her jaw, and he kisses her. His lips taste like whiskey and bitters, but Felicity is suddenly not as opposed to the taste as she’d been a few hours ago.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers when he pulls away, the kiss ending nearly as quick as it had begun. “I’ve just been wanting to do that.”

 

Felicity barely waits for him to finish speaking before she’s pressing up on her toes, grabbing onto the lapel of his coat with the hand not clutching the small polaroids and pulling him back towards her. He sways on his feet, bending to meet her in a second kiss. She presses a little harder and this kiss is much heavier, lasts longer than the first.

 

Until she remembers herself and she’s pushing lightly at his chest instead, trying to create some space between them. Oliver moves as soon as he feels the force of her hand on his sweater, but he stays in her space, breathing a little harder to match Felicity’s own heart rate. He smells like pancake batter and something woodsy and she can’t bring herself to pull further away from him.

 

“I can’t,” she breathes, the words shaking with her breath. “I’m leaving and I just, I can’t get caught up in something messy like a relationship.”

 

“I don’t really believe in those anymore,” he admits, but it doesn’t sound like a brag or a tactic. It sounds like lost faith and Felicity aches for him, for the way the sentiment echoes inside of her own chest. “And, I can’t really handle one right now.”

 

“So, what does that mean?” She asks, her fingers tightening in the fabric of his sweater again. She should move. She should pull away and they should forget this, forget her whole list, before they do something stupid. But she doesn’t.

 

“You’re leaving,” he repeats and she hums in acknowledgement. “And I’m not really good at relationships anyway.”

 

Something stupid like pushing him up against her front door. Stupid like inviting him inside, leading him down the hallway. Stupid like…

 

“If we both know this can’t go anywhere,” she starts, a little leadingly. “Then, what’s the harm, right?”

 

Oliver only kisses her again in response.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oliver and felicity engage in a friends-with-benefits situation. certainly nothing could go wrong with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's nearly 2am and i'm posting bc sometimes... people who are me... are impatient. also i wanted this up ON new year's eve so HERE IT IS! i expected this story to end up at like 20k and.... it did not.
> 
> brevity? never heard of her. anyway, enjoy!!

Stargazing in December isn’t the greatest idea, but it’s on the list so Oliver insists. They’re bundled up to almost an overt degree and there’s so much cloud coverage that any stars are few and far between. Oliver had picked her up and they’d driven outside of the city, far enough to escape the light pollution brought on by the busy streets and tall buildings.

 

He’d packed a blanket and a thermos of hot chocolate. They’d tried spreading it out on the grass, but the ground proved to be too frozen for comfort or warmth. Instead, they’d ended up on the hood of Oliver’s car, the blanket spread over it to protect the paint job, and they’re huddled close together as they share the thermos.

 

He kisses her and she’s not sure which one of them deepens it until he’s half on top of her, hands moving uselessly over her thick coat. She revels in his warmth, the weight of him, the sheer euphoria of his attentions.

 

“We need to set some ground rules,” she says, once he’s freed her mouth and turned his attention to her throat.

 

“I’d expect nothing less,” he teases, nipping at the skin he’s revealed by pulling her scarf away from her neck.

 

They haven’t gotten much further than this following the impromptu makeout on her front porch. Oliver had ended things, declining Felicity’s invitation to come inside for a drink, and suggested they take things slow until they’re sure it’s what they want. The time hadn’t changed either of their minds.

 

“Oliver, I’m being serious,” she insists, pushing lightly at his arm. He sits back from her, taking her hand to help her into a sitting position on the hood as well.

 

“I know,” he nods. “What are the rules?”

 

“This is not a relationship,” she says and he nods again. “Which means it needs to stay between us. We’re not going to define something that has an expiration date and if we involve other people, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

 

“Okay,” he agrees, shrugging. “Makes sense.”

 

“And, in that vein,” she goes on. “Just because we occasionally makeout now, that does not make these dates. We’re still just friends, hanging out, completing my bucket list. Friends who happen to be attracted to each other and like kissing each other. That’s all.”

 

“You may be over explaining it,” Oliver teases, leaning towards her to steal a quick kiss. He narrows his eyes at her as he pulls away. “You’ve never done the whole casual thing before have you?”

 

She rolls her eyes, looking away from him. Realizing he’s upset her, Oliver’s thumb strokes over her knuckles as he presses soft kisses to her cheek and the corner of her mouth.

 

“It’s not that I  _ haven’t _ ,” she explains. “It’s just that it’s been a while. And that relationship I just got out of? It was a long one and I got hurt, so I’m just-”

 

“I’m not planning on hurting you, Felicity,” he says quietly, close to her ear. It’s what they’d agreed upon, right? No attachment, no chance of pain. “But I do have a rule of my own.”

 

She looks over at him curiously, one eyebrow raised in question. Oliver’s face has gone serious but his fingers play with hers now.

 

“No matter what, you aren’t allowed to fall in love with me.”

 

Felicity lets out a surprised laugh before groaning and shoving him lightly in the chest. Oliver rocks backwards with the movement, but overestimates his center of gravity and nearly topples off the hood of the car. Felicity’s fingers tighten in his coat, pulling him steady.

 

They’re both laughing, their breath turning to puffs of condensation in the cold air. After a few moments, and catching their breath, they settle back against the hood.

 

“Do both parties agree to the outlined rules, then?” Felicity asks in her best lawyer voice, staring up at the overcast sky.

 

“They do,” he says.

 

She holds her hand up suddenly, in between both of them. It’s curled into a fist save for her pinky where it sticks up towards the sky. Oliver is quiet for a moment but she catches his little bewildered chuckle before he gives in, lifting his hand to hook his pinky around hers.

 

“Great,” Felicity says after giving his pinky a shake and letting their hands fall back to the hood. “Then there shouldn’t be a problem.”

 

\---

 

“Are you doing anything for Christmas?”

 

He asks it in the middle of the pottery class they’re taking. Felicity is hunched over her lump of clay and, she thinks, she’s much better at this than she had been at the cooking. But Oliver seems to be effortlessly good at nearly everything he tries and it’s becoming less irritating as she gets used to it. She knows he’s only half focused on his own clay, his attentions more on her as she struggles to smooth the bumps from her attempt at a mug, but as she glances over at his large serving bowl, the edges are smooth and creaseless. Ugh.

 

“Hmm?” She hums, her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth with her focus, his words not registering through her mind.

 

“I asked,” Oliver tries again, prodding her arm gently to try and gain more of her attention. “If you’re doing anything for Christmas.”

 

“Oh,” she says, finally removing her hands from the clay to sit up and look over at him. “I’m Jewish.”

 

“Okay,” he nods. “So, that means you don’t have plans then?”

 

She laughs, shaking her head and returning her attentions to the clay. From her peripheral, she can see Oliver do the same.

 

“I know you said you don’t have any family in the area,” he goes on. “And I thought you could come to Christmas dinner at my mom’s with me.”

 

Felicity tenses up, her fingers beginning to tingle a little in the cold clay as she considers the offer. He must sense her reaction, because he spins fully to face her.

 

“Oliver,” she says slowly, dropping her voice and refusing to look over at him just yet. “What about the rules?”

 

“Relax,” he says, that annoyingly easy smile coming over his features like he hasn’t just made her whole chest go tight. “I just meant as friends. My family used to go pretty big for the holidays, but it’s a lot smaller now. Just a small thing on Christmas Eve. I didn’t want you to spend the holiday alone, but if you don’t want to then-”

 

“No,” she says, cutting him off and finally meeting his eye. “No, sorry, it just surprised me but, yeah. I mean, I don’t really celebrate it, but if you’d like me to come, as a friend, then I’ll be there.”

 

“Okay,” Oliver nods. “Good.”

 

“Good,” Felicity echoes. They make eye contact again, dissolving into quiet laughs at themselves before returning to their pottery.

 

\---

 

“You can’t just add things to the list, Oliver!”

 

“Why not?” He asks, watching the movement of her colored pencil as it follows the line of the small patch on the paper she’s filling in.

 

He has her tablet set up in front of him, the kickstand out and keyboard connected to it. They’ve gotten into a strange habit of having lunch at her desk, Oliver bringing her whatever cuisine one of them is craving that day.

 

They’re not dates. That’s in the rules.

 

But the people in her shared office give them strange looks as Oliver settles in to share with her and they make their way out of the office for their own lunch breaks. Felicity would be more bothered by it if she hadn’t already handed in her two weeks notice. Soon, it won’t matter if they think she’s sleeping with the boss.

 

“Because it’s  _ my _ bucket list,” she says. “Or because we have a finite amount of time to finish it. Take your pick.”

 

“Come on,” he argues. “It’s not even going to add that much time. We could do it this weekend. There’s a place near here we can go.”

 

She sighs, setting the pencil down and glancing at the screen where he’s already added the new item.

 

“Why archery?” She asks. “It looks utterly ridiculous.”

 

“I just think it’s cool,” he shrugs and Felicity recognizes his pouting even before she looks over at him. His voice has gone a little gruff, brow pinched as he stares at the screen and avoids her gaze.

 

God, she’s a sucker.

 

“Fine,” she gives in. “ _ If _ you can get us signed up for a class this weekend, we’ll go.”

 

“Great,” Oliver says, mood switching with her agreement. She shakes her head at him, but he cleans up the containers from their Thai food and pecks her on the cheek before heading out. Even she has to admit, it’s all kind of alarmingly domestic. Maybe they should talk about that.

 

\---

 

The problem with giving Oliver an ‘if’ is that, in Starling City, if there’s a connection to be had, chances are pretty high that he will have it.

 

“My buddy’s dad used to come here,” is all he gives her as an explanation.

 

So, she ends up spending her Saturday afternoon at an archery range. It’s not terrible.

 

In this case, she’s actually pretty happy to find that Oliver is still a quick learn. Mostly because, even if archery does look kind of ridiculous, he makes it look ridiculously good. The instructor, an older Chinese man with calloused fingers and kind eyes, had shouted at him a few times about his form, which had flustered Oliver until he’d managed to pick it up and get it right.

 

Felicity’s form is great. Her aim? Not so much. The tension on the string of the compound bow had been adjusted to her, but she’s never had the best depth perception. She only manages to hit the target once or twice, nowhere close to the bullseye in the center.

 

But Oliver comes over at one point and stands close behind her, adjusting the line of her bow and attempting to help her hit the middle. It might work, too, except she’s way too focused on his arms around her, his chest pressed to her back. Her fingers shake as she releases the string and the arrow flies far over the target. Oliver laughs and seems to decide he’s doing more harm than good.

 

“Whatever,” she says teasingly as they head up the driveway towards her porch. “I still say archery looks ridiculous.”

 

“Oh, yeah?” Oliver challenges, waiting behind her on the porch as she unlocks the door. “Is that why you were checking me out all day?”

 

“Me?” She laughs, spinning around to face him. “What about you, Mr. ‘Oh, Felicity let me adjust your arms’, ‘Felicity, move your hips like this’, ‘straighten your back.’”

 

“All of that was totally innocent,” he says, taking a less-than-innocent step closer to her. “I was adjusting your form.”

 

“My form, huh?” She grins, lifting on her toes just slightly to wrap her arms over his shoulders. “Well, how’s my form now?”

 

His hands slide over her sides, trailing down the rough wool of her coat and landing on her hips. He jerks them slightly towards himself, pulling her up against him.

 

“I could think of a few suggestions,” he murmurs, his voice low and growly in that way it goes after a heavy makeout, when they’re both trying to calm down and pace themselves.

 

Felicity presses up fully on her toes, using her arms around his neck to leverage herself as she presses her lips to his. Oliver responds, pushing her back against the front door behind her. Her keys jingle in the lock where she’d left them, too caught up in teasing Oliver to finish unlocking the door. She pulls one arm from around him, reaching back to twist the keys and push the door open. They stumble slightly getting inside, but it barely breaks their stride.

 

Felicity’s laughing a little at their frantic movements and Oliver pinches her side before helping her remove her coat. She lets it fall to the floor, uncaring, and moves to work on his coat instead. The heavy leather jacket hits the hardwood with a thud. She pulls him by the hem of his sweater, guiding him with her as she moves backwards to the hall that leads to her bedroom. Oliver stops her once he realizes where her destination is.

 

“Is this okay?” He asks quietly, his hands suddenly hovering near her rather than actually touching. Felicity pulls him down to her for another kiss, nipping gently at his lip. She knows it’s been her decision from the beginning, her keeping them at their slow pace.

 

But the truth is, despite all of her rules, she’s been  _ scared _ . It’s been a while since she’s been with someone, even longer since it was a casual hookup. But this whole thing has been about her fears and how she’d like to stop being afraid.

 

And, right now? She’s never been so scared or more sure that she should do it anyway. That this thing with Oliver? It’s messy and complicated and she knows it’s going to end. But it feels like it’s worth it.

 

“More than,” she assures him as she pulls away. There are no lights on in the house but the natural light that comes through the windows. It’s low and dim as the sun disappears behind winter clouds and begins to set. But she can see how Oliver’s eyes shine in the low light, feel how his hands land on her again, firm and sure this time.

 

He presses her back into the wall of the hallway, his mouth honing in on a spot beneath her ear he’d discovered during one of their first makeout sessions. She wriggles against him, pushing up to her fullest height and trying to give him a better angle.

 

Instead, he spins her suddenly, stepping back to give her space between herself and the wall. He pushes her loose hair out of the way and tugs at the neckline of her shirt, revealing some of her shoulder to his eager mouth. Felicity pushes her hips back into his, grinding back against him. He huffs a hot breath against the skin of her shoulder.

 

His hands come down to the hem of her shirt, tugging it upwards as she raises her arms to help him. It catches on her hair and she giggles, freeing herself from it and spinning back to him. He’s grinning at her and she wraps her hand around the back of his neck, pulling herself up to him.

 

He doesn’t kiss her right away, instead brushing her hair out of her face to cradle her jaw. Felicity bites down on her lip. She lets her hands drift down from his neck, over his chest and the lines of his abs. Oliver beats her to it, releasing her face to pull his sweater over his head.

 

“Eager, aren’t we?” She teases and he shuts her up with a kiss, hot and pressing against her mouth. She moans, her eyes fluttering shut as she loses herself in it.

 

“I have a lot of patience, Felicity,” he mumbles right against her ear after he pulls away. His hands explore her bare torso, fingers spanning her stomach as his thumbs toy at the material of her bra. “But you’ve made it hard.”

 

“That’s not the only thing that’s getting hard,” she says, unable to help herself as her hand slides down over his stomach, palms him through the rough material of his jeans. His fingers press into the skin of her stomach in response.

 

“God,” he huffs. “You are trouble.”

 

“Funny,” she breathes, pushing away from the wall and guiding him back towards her room. “I’ve been thinking the same thing about you.”

 

Oliver kisses her again, any further conversation falling from her mind. His hands are rough from the cold air and she can tell there are calluses forming on his fingers from the day of archery. Shivers as they slide around her back, the tips of his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her jeans.

 

She pushes him down onto the mattress as they reach her bed, climbing on top of him to straddle his thighs. His hands move up her back again, fingertips following the path of her spine with a featherlight touch, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He reaches the clasp of her bra, unhooking it with practiced ease. She pulls away from him enough to let it fall down her arms, toss it aside.

 

Oliver stares up at her, his eyes trailing over the newly bare skin. He leans forward to kiss the top of one of her breasts, mumbling something that gets lost in the press of his lips. If she’s imaging the way the syllables seem to form ‘remarkable’ she’s happy not to question it.

 

Her fingers tug through his hair as he kisses her chest, moves his attentions downwards to her nipple. One of his hands slide up her side to reach her neglected breast, cupping and teasing. She moves her hips slowly against his, gently teasing him as she feels him growing harder beneath his jeans.

 

Her own impatience is getting the best of her and it takes all of her self control to keep from pushing him back into the bed and getting down to it with both of them half dressed. Instead, she pulls back from him and catches his jaw with her fingers. He looks up at her, confused at the change as she slides off of him.

 

“Stay here for a minute,” she directs, stepping back from him. He nods, looking a little dazed. “Take off your pants.”

 

She turns, taking quick strides towards the bathroom. Behind her, she can hear the shuffle of Oliver relieving himself of his jeans. In the connected bathroom, she digs through the drawers under her sink, searching for the box of condoms she hasn’t had a use for in a while.

 

“Yes!” She whispers when she finds them, ignoring the moderately frat boy-like response to finding a rubber and pulling one from the box.

 

She comes back into the bedroom to find Oliver spread out on the bed. He holds himself up on one elbow, the other hand slowly stroking himself.

 

Somehow, she had not considered the reality of an extremely naked Oliver Queen. Felicity feels frozen at the entrance of the bathroom, forgetting the condom in her hand and the fact that she, too, is mostly naked.

 

“I took my pants off,” Oliver points out and she nods numbly, biting down on her tongue. “You’re turn.”

 

Felicity shakes her head, dropping the condom packet onto the bed and climbing over it towards him.

 

“No?” Oliver frowns. The word turns into a sharp inhale as Felicity hovers over him on the bed, replacing his hand with her own. She squeezes him gently, twisting her wrist as her hand moves over the length of him.

 

“Not yet,” she hums, considering him. Her gaze moves over him hungrily and he groans, his head dropping backwards with her ministrations.

 

“Jesus, Felicity,” he breathes. “Haven’t we waited enough?”

 

And it’s a fair question, considering they’ve spent nearly every waking moment together for a while now. And she had liked the slowness, the couch makeouts and teenager-like excitement. But this? Far superior.

 

“If you’re tired of waiting,” she taunts, her thumb running over the tip of him. His chest moves with his heavy breaths. “Then do something about it.”

 

Oliver only hesitates a moment, seeming to suss out the sincerity of her statement. Then he moves, lightning quick, and has her pinned beneath him. His mouth covers hers in a heady kiss as his fingers play at the fly of her jeans, working it open and encouraging them down her thighs. She lifts her hips to make it easier for him.

 

He pushes her legs apart, settling into the space between her knees, and kisses the inside of her thigh. His palms spread over her hips, keeping her in place on the mattress as she squirms beneath him. His tongue runs over the edge of her underwear where it meets her thigh and she gasps in surprise.

 

His fingers drag over her through the material of her underwear, dragging up and down slowly, tantalizing, until she’s squirming against him and there’s a sign of her wetness staining the material. He puffs warm breaths against her skin between kisses on her stomach and then he’s easing her underwear down, replacing the drag of his fingers with the press of his tongue.

 

She whines, shifting beneath him and dragging her fingers through his hair. He works her like an expert, drawing out her pleasure and seeming to savor each sigh, gasp, and noise she gives him in return. Her legs are shaking when he finally lets up, her release leaving her heaving for breath.

 

“See?” She teases, feeling delirious from the orgasm. “Patience is a virtue.”

 

Oliver laughs as he moves back up her body, the sound making his chest vibrate against her skin. He hovers over her, covering her mouth with his own again in a slow, languid kiss. Like they have all the time in the world suddenly. She feels the hard length of him press against her and is suddenly ready to go again.

 

Hooking her leg over him, she pushes her heel into his ass cheek and pushes off the bed. The motion flips them, making her the one hovering over him now as she settles her hips against his.

 

“We’re not done yet,” she reminds him, moving off of him just enough to retrieve the abandoned condom on the side of the bed. She tears it open, her red nails flashing against the silver foil, and sits up on his thighs. Taking his length in her hand, she strokes him a few more times before rolling the condom over him. This time, she’s the one to move painfully slowly.

 

Oliver throws his arm over his eyes, groaning.

 

“God,” he huffs. “You are something else. Fucking incredible, but something else entirely.”

 

“We haven’t even gotten to the incredible fucking yet,” she taunts, catching herself on her palms, pressed down on the mattress on either side of him as she hovers over him. He laughs, letting his arm fall away from his eyes and she swoops in to kiss him again.

 

When she lowers himself down onto him, one hand guiding him inside of her and the other planted on his stomach, holding her upright, Oliver’s fingers bite into her hips. He shifts just a little as she settles onto him, not moving but adjusting as she gets used to him. And then she lifts herself again, sliding back down on him and rocking her hips against his. Oliver moans, meeting her rhythm with his own. It takes a minute for them to sync up, for their bodies to begin moving together towards the edge.

 

And then, what was the word Oliver had used? Incredible.

 

His hands roam her body, helping build her pleasure with his thumbs on her nipples, fingers dragging over her spine, pads of his fingers pressing at her clit. He presses kisses to her chest, his beard scratching over the sensitive skin, leaving some redness in its wake. She learns the ridges and valleys of him with her own fingers, letting her hands explore the planes of his chest, the lines of his abs.

 

When she can feel him closing in on his release, he sits up enough to pull her mouth down to his. His fingers slip down between their bodies, searching out her hypersensitive clit and applying just the right amount of friction until she’s panting, crying out for her release. He gives it to her with his teeth scraping down the column of her throat, her name a rough whisper against her own skin.

  
And then he follows her, his hips move erratically against her own as his hands search for purchase on her back, press into the line of her spine. He pants out her name again, more desperate this time as he rides his own climax. She watches him, as best she can as she comes down from her own high, and he’s so ridiculously beautiful even like this.

 

She doesn’t think she’s ever thought of a man’s orgasm face as beautiful before. The thought nearly makes her laugh, but she bites down on it, smiling down at him instead. He opens his eyes to find her grinning at him and frowns, confused, before matching it with one of his own. He sits up, his hands on her spine turning into a full embrace as he pulls her against his chest.

 

“What are you smiling about?” He asks and she knows the truth would not be good in this circumstance, so she shrugs, squirming against him still inside of her. She feels his muscles twitch and he squeezes his eyes shut again, just for a second.

 

“Just, you called it,” she explains as he looks at her again. “Fucking incredible.”

 

\---

 

“Should I bring anything? Should I wear anything? Well, I mean, obviously I’ll wear  _ something _ , I just mean, you know, should I wear something nice or is it more casual or formal? Oh, God, is it formal? Because I don’t know-”

 

Felicity stops her panicked monologue at the soft sound of laughter coming from the other end of the line. She glares at her reflection in the mirror, imagining it’s Oliver in front of her instead.

 

“Are you seriously laughing at me right now?” She asks, affecting a more dramatic tone. “In my hour of need?”

 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes and though the chuckles have stopped she can still hear a smile in his voice. “But you don’t have to overthink this, alright? It’s just a small party with some people my parents know. Honestly, I’m hoping you’ll make the whole thing more bearable.”

 

“Oh, yeah?” She comments, turning to the outfits set out on her bed she’s been trying to choose between for this holiday party at the Queens. “Maybe I’ll climb up on the roof again.”

 

“Well, I would prefer if you didn’t but,” he gives a long suffering sigh between words, “whatever works for you, I suppose.”

 

Felicity smiles to herself, dropping down on the edge of the bed. The line lapses into silence for a moment as she chews on her lip and Oliver waits for her.

 

“Seriously,” she says finally, trying to affect a more calm tone. “Can you just tell me what the dress code is?”

 

“Just wear a dress,” he says and she can catch the sudden hurried tone in his voice. She doesn’t think it’s directed at her. “I’m sorry but I have to help with preparations.”

 

“It’s fine,” she assures him. “I’ll see you tonight.”

 

“See you tonight,” he says and she nearly lifts the phone away from her ear before she hears him say, “Oh, and Felicity? Relax.”

 

And then he’s laughing again, because he knows such a thing is unlikely for her tonight, and she hangs up on him with a groan before tossing her phone towards her pillows and flopping back on the bed.

 

There’s a box on her dresser, halfway opened, with a fancy looking logo on the side. She’d started to open it, but had chickened out halfway through, unsure of herself. She knows what’s inside, had picked it out herself, but the idea of taking it out, of putting it on, had suddenly seemed too daunting.

 

She eyes it again now, thinking of Oliver’s laughter at her expense. How she’d love to wipe that forced charm off of him, leave him speechless in front of her, all those pretty words lost. He’s gotten better about not pulling that side of himself, the side meant for public events and press conferences and shaking hands with board members, out around her. But he slips sometimes, too comfortable in the fake charm to realize he’s even doing it.

 

The three outfits on her bed are reasonably tame. Each one is tailored to a different possible dress code, though she doesn’t exactly have an evening gown stashed in her closet. But Oliver had been of little help. ‘Just wear a dress.’ Men.

 

Still, she sits up and contemplates her options. There’s a dress she didn’t pull out. She’d bought it years ago and had just never gotten around to wearing it. She glances to her open closet, but the multitude of colorful dresses are packed so tightly she can’t exactly pick the dress out. Pushing off the bed, Felicity goes to search for it.

 

She finds it off to one side, tucked between an old cardigan she hardly wears anymore and a glittery gold cocktail dress her mother had sent her. This dress is a respectable length, falling just about at her knees. It’s a solid red, bright and fitting for a Christmas party she supposes. But it’s the closure of the dress that’s always given her pause. A zipper runs from neckline to hemline, the only thing keeping the dress closed together. One good tug, all the way down, and it’d look more like an expensive cardigan than a dress.

 

She looks back to the box on her dresser once more and decides that, maybe, it’s exactly what she needs.

 

\---

 

Oliver already looks run down when he answers the door. She’d text him that she was heading up the driveway and figures he’d been waiting to make sure he was the one that greeted her. She’s grateful for that. There’s also some level of gratefulness that he’s willing to show her how he really feels about this party, even if she’s sure he’s playing nice for the guests and his family. That openness makes her feel immediately more comfortable in his space. It lets her know she’s not the only one who’s going to have trouble getting through the night.

 

It makes her glad she’d agreed to come, if it gives her the chance to be here for him.

 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he breathes as he leads her into the house. Though, house may be a bit of a stretch for the home she’s just walked into. There are a lot of things she could call it, but she’ll delicately go with ‘mansion’ and leave it at that.

 

God, he really makes her forget how troublingly rich he is sometimes. She’s pretty sure back in college she had a sticker on her laptop that said ‘eat the rich.’ She doubts Oliver would appreciate this small detail about her past.

 

“Yeah, sorry, I almost got lost coming up the driveway,” she says, intending it as a joke but her nerves have returned in full force and she can tell from the way he frowns at her as he’s taking her coat that he’s worried she might be serious. She shakes her head.

 

“Well, you look amazing,” he says, once he’s stowed the coat in a closet. Felicity’s glad it’s just the two of them in the foyer, because he gives her a once over as he says it that has her tingling all the way down to her toes. And then he leans down to press a kiss to her lips, almost surely smudging her still-drying lipstick, and she’s powerless but to return it for a moment.

 

The party is uncomfortable, but bearable. Like an eye exam or a bra fitting. It’s more of a dinner party than anything else, the long dining table lined with people Felicity recognizes from city leadership or higher ups at Queen Consolidated. To her credit, Oliver’s mother knows each of their names, their significant others, and goes out of the way to ask about their children or dogs or boats.

 

To Felicity, she’s perfectly polite. If she recognizes her from Queen Consolidated, she doesn’t mention it, though Felicity doesn’t know how the current CEO  _ could _ recognize her. Instead, she seems to accept Oliver’s introduction of ‘this is Felicity Smoak, a friend of mine.’ Though, Felicity thinks Moira is immediately doubtful of the title of friend.

 

“It’s nice to finally meet the woman my son has been spending all of his time with,” she comments and if it’s a joke, it’s a barbed one.

 

Oliver’s sister is much more friendly, but Felicity thinks it’s mostly because she, too, has no interest in the party being hosted by her mother. She steals Felicity and Oliver away at one point to the kitchen where she and Oliver race to finish candy canes. It’s cute. Felicity decides she likes Thea.

 

After the dinner, most everyone moves to the large, wood floored room towards the front of the house for cocktails. A Christmas tree reaches from floor to ceiling, donned in gold and silver baubles with bright white lights. Felicity stares at it for so long she sees spots when she looks away. Oliver leaves her at the bar to ‘make rounds’ as he calls it and she sips slowly at a flavored martini.

 

“So, you know, when Oliver says ‘friend’, he usually means something else,” Thea says, sidling up next to her and giving the bartender an imploring look until he sighs and slides a tumblr filled with whiskey towards her. That must be a Queen trait. 

 

She murmurs ‘thanks, babe’ and Felicity figures that she must be better acquainted with the square-jawed, sullen looking young man behind the bar than as just the hired help.

 

“No, we really are just friends,” Felicity says, feeling confident in the way her voice holds. After all, she’s pretty sure even a friend she’s had inside her is still a friend. She spots Oliver across the room, standing with his mother and talking to an older couple. She can see the stress in his frame, the tense way he holds himself even as he smiles and chats like it’s natural.

 

Thea hums, sounding unconvinced. Felicity’s pretty sure the more defensive she gets, the less Thea will believe her anyway.

 

“Actually,” she says, turning away from Oliver to face his sister fully. “Oliver’s been helping me finish my bucket list.”

 

Thea frowns, her glass stopping halfway to her mouth.

 

“Wait, seriously?” She asks and Felicity nods. “Wow, that’s so lame.”

 

Felicity pouts, taking a sip from her drink. The bartender lets out a quiet snort behind them.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Thea says hurriedly. “It’s just, well, I thought bucket lists were things old people did when they thought they were about to kick the bucket.”

 

“It’s kind of a long story,” Felicity admits, shrugging. “But the shorthand is that I’m moving in about two weeks and thought what better way to start over than by finishing my bucket list, right? So, that’s what Oliver’s been helping me do.”

 

The truth of it must not really be that interesting to Thea because she quickly runs out of follow up questions. When Oliver returns, she sets her glass of whiskey on the small bar and steps in front of it, effectively hiding it from sight.

 

“Nice try,” Oliver comments dryly. “Don’t let mom see you.”

 

Thea hums noncommittally and he turns his attention to Felicity.

 

“Sorry for making you wait,” he apologizes. “Are you having a good time?”

 

“Yeah,” Felicity says, glancing over at Thea. It’s not totally a lie. “Your sister and I have been chatting.”

 

“That’s dangerous,” he frowns, earning a smirk from Thea. He steps towards Felicity, lowering his voice. “Can I steal you for a moment?”

 

She nods and sets her glass down on the bar. A fluttering in her chest acting out both her nervousness and excitement with the words. She’d been hoping to get him alone for a moment tonight anyway.

 

“I’m gonna give Felicity a tour,” he tells Thea who nods, but narrows her eyes at them like she’s still trying to suss out the truth about their relationship.

 

Oliver’s hand on her back, guiding her out of the room, keeps her from dwelling on it too much. He leads her back out into the foyer and up one of the staircases on either side of the room.

 

“Sorry,” he says softly, once they’re heading down a hallway a comfortable distance away from the party. “I just needed to get away for a minute.”

 

“It’s fine,” she says, waving him off as they continue down the halls. There’s art hanging at evenly spaced intervals and she figures it’s all probably expensive and original. “It’s kind of interesting to see how you grew up.”

 

Oliver and his sister still live in the mansion with his mother but, seeing the place, Felicity can understand why. She figures living in a house this large and expansive must be somewhat like living alone. But she’s also caught Oliver looking at apartments in the city on her tablet during their lunches, when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. So, maybe he thinks it’s time for a change, too.

 

“Oh, yeah?” He asks, grinning down at her. They stop suddenly and he tugs at her hand to pull her to face him. She twists on her heel as his hands land on her hips and hers come up to his shoulders on instinct. He leans forward, dropping his voice conspiratorially to ask, “Do you want to see my room?”

 

The flutters return to Felicity’s stomach as the plan for tonight resurfaces in her mind. She had expected to have to pull Oliver away, to find a quiet spot for them once most of the guests had left. She didn’t realize he’d be so eager to be alone with her as well. Instead of answering right away, she presses up and kisses him. Oliver’s fingers tighten at her hips, his mouth responding to the press of hers.

 

When they pull apart, she nods and he takes her hand again, leading her down a maze of hallways. She thinks that, if left alone, she would quickly get lost trying to find her way back to the party. With Oliver, she feels like she knows the turns and long hallways as well as he does.

 

Finally, he pushes through a simple looking door and it opens into a large bedroom. There are windows on one side and, though it’s dark outside, Felicity can tell they’re now facing the backyard. A large bed sits in the middle of the room with a hardwood desk off to one side. There’s a TV and a few dressers and a couch. Felicity thinks her entire living room and kitchen could fit in his bedroom.

 

“Damn,” is all she manages in response and it earns her a quiet laugh from Oliver. If he has some sort of response, or if she could find more words, he doesn’t give either of them time for it. Instead, he’s pulling her against him once more, kissing her slow with his hand under her jaw.

 

“And here I thought you just wanted to show off the architecture,” she teases between kisses. Her fingers grip at the collar of his suit jacket, holding him tightly to her as he kisses the corner of her mouth.

 

“Well, if you want to stop,” he says, his tone light, but she knows he’s serious. Felicity lets go of his lapel.

 

“Actually,” she says and Oliver hands are already pulling away, putting some space between them. “I was hoping to get you alone for a bit tonight for a different reason.”

 

“Oh,” Oliver frowns, surprised. “What reason is that?”

 

“I have a confession to make,” she says, twisting her hands together in front of her. He raises one hand eyebrow in question. “I kind of did something off the list without you.”

 

“You did?” He asks and she can sense the disappointment there. But it’s something else, too. Worry.

 

He’s seen the rest of her list and most of what’s left are things added during her first year in college. When she was both a virgin and a total horn dog. She’s not super proud of it, but at this point the list is pretty much just a sexual to-do list.

 

She realizes suddenly that Oliver is wondering if she’d marked one of those items off with someone else.

 

“Which one?” He asks, too casual.

 

“Well, it’s kind of part of your Christmas gift,” she offers coyly, shrugging one shoulder at him. Oliver only seems more confused now and she figures he’s forgotten the item left on her list. Her excitement is starting to face competition from her anxiety and self-consciousness.

 

Refusing to back down, she lifts a hand to the zipper hanging at her cleavage, tugs it just enough to make her intentions clear.

 

“Do you want to unwrap it?”

 

She can see Oliver’s eyes darken as he watches the movement of the zipper, the space where it’s opened just enough to reveal some of her cleavage, looks back up to meet her gaze. His hand comes up to replace hers on the metal tag, pulling it down painfully slowly. He stops when the tab reaches just above her belly button, the dress pulling open enough to reveal her breasts and the sheer, dark green lace covering them.

 

“Oh,” he breathes and she figures he’s now remembering the entry on her list of ‘wear expensive lingerie’. She lets out a short laugh, but her chest feels tight with the way he’s looking at her, his eyes caught as they roam over her.

 

“You gonna finish?” She teases, referring to unzipping the rest of the dress.

 

“I’m hoping to,” he growls and she knows he means something else. With one quick tug and a bend of his knees he pulls the zipper the rest of the way free. It falls open as his hand moves away from her, the red material now just a framing to the nearly see-through dark green lingerie. He steps back as if to admire her and Felicity flushes, watching his eyes roam over her.

 

“Have I told you you’re remarkable?” He asks and she bites her lip to temper the large smile the comment elicits, hopes her lipstick doesn’t smudge on her teeth.

 

“You could stand to say it more,” she laughs.

 

“Well, you are,” he says, and she can see him trying to regain control, blinking a few times and glancing away from her. It amazes her that she can have that effect on him. “Um. Do you, uh, do you want a photo of this?”

 

He sounds like he doubts she would, but figures he should offer anyway. Felicity hopes that means he’s eager to see what the lingerie looks like off of her as well. But she knows exactly how cell phone photos work and she didn’t bring her camera. Besides, she doesn’t think she’ll need a photo to remember the way he’s looking at her right now.   
  
“I was thinking that this one could be just for us,” she admits and Oliver nods, swallowing and letting his gaze travel over her again. Felicity takes the initiative for him, shrugging the dress off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.

 

“A big house like this,” she starts slowly, taking a few steps towards him to close the space between them he’d created. “Noise probably doesn’t travel very well, huh?”

 

“Were you planning on trying to kill me?” He asks, smiling at her as his hands return to her hips. This time, his thumbs dip low on her hip bones, running over the material of the matching briefs. His nail scratches over her skin as one thumb dips past the waistband and sends shivers through her.

 

“No,” she says quietly, pressing up towards his mouth, but just far enough to keep from reaching him. “But I can think of a few other reasons you might be screaming my name tonight.”

 

Oliver makes a low sound in the back of his throat and surges down to capture her mouth. Any pretense of patience flies out the window as one of his hands slides up past her ribs to the thin fabric of the bra. His thumb strokes over her nipple, the roughness of his skin – still calloused from handling the bow the days prior – coupled with the lace detailing sends delicious shivers through her body. She hums against his mouth, arching up towards his hand.

 

She slides one of her own hands down his chest, to the ridge of his pants where she can feel his growing erection and grips it gently, squeezing lightly to tease him. He groans a little louder this time, Felicity swallowing the sound.

 

“Fuck, Felicity,” he breathes, panting against her. She grins, nipping at his jaw.

 

“Merry Christmas, Oliver,” she offers. 

 

He doesn’t return the sentiment, instead gripping her hips a little tighter and twisting them to walk her back towards the bed. She should have known his bed would be ten times as comfortable as her own.

 

\---

 

After the Christmas party, Felicity doesn’t hear from Oliver for a few days. But she expects as much and tries not to overthink it, because it’s the holidays and some people actually have family they enjoy being around. It’s just that there are things left on her list and she’s stopped marking days off her calendar because they’re drawing so close to the end of the year and it’s giving her anxiety. Her two weeks notice ended just before the holiday, so it’s given her a lot of free time to finish packing and begin panicking.

 

So when he calls her two days after Christmas and invites her over, she jumps at the chance to be alone with someone other than herself for the night. It’s just brownie points that that someone is Oliver.

 

“I have a surprise for you,” he says on the phone and, at the reminder of the last thing one of them had surprised the other with, her stomach flips with excitement.

 

He asks her to bring some hot chocolate – he swears hers is the best, but she thinks he’s just trying to make her feel better for being unable to cook anything else – and meet her at the Queen estate that evening.

 

When she arrives, he greets her at the door again. This time, he takes her hand and leads her to the back of the house. It’s an unfamiliar path and she frowns, tugging at his hand and trying to get him to tell her what’s going on.

 

“Where are your mom and sister?” She asks as he guides her through a sitting room.

 

“Mom always spends the new year in the mountains,” he explains. “And Thea is off with her boyfriend somewhere. I’m trying not to think about it.”

 

Felicity laughs. “Oh, yeah? Worried they’re getting up to something like whatever you have planned for us tonight?”

 

“Don’t,” Oliver groans. “Please don’t ruin this.”

 

She laughs again, stumbling a little as he leads her out of a patio door and onto the pool deck in the backyard. Oliver drops her hand and takes a few steps without her. There’s steam coming off of the lighted pool and a set of towels and soft looking robes on one of the lounge chairs. He takes the thermos of hot chocolate from her and sets it next to the towels, along with her purse where she can see her camera sticking out of the large pocket.

 

“Ha,” she says dryly. “No.”

 

“Oh, come on,” he laughs. “There’s no one else in the house right now. It’s just you, me, and this heated pool. Plus, it’s on your list.”

 

“We’re gonna freeze,” she argues.

 

“Did you miss the part where I said ‘heated’ pool?” He asks. “Seriously. Take your clothes off.” He takes a step towards her, offering her a suggestive look as his eyes rove over her body. “Unless you want me to do it for you.”

 

She gives him a dark look and spins away from him. For a moment she considers leaving him on the pool deck. But, he’s right. This was on her list. Instead, she unbuttons her wool coat with shaking fingers and tries not to think about Oliver behind her. She’s been naked in front of him a few times now, but it feels different somehow. Her fingers shake as she undoes the last button and tosses her coat to the side, steps out of her boots.

 

Behind her, she can hear the shuffle of Oliver removing his own clothes, so at least she isn’t alone. As soon as her coat is off, she feels the bite of the winter air and it somehow speeds her along. She rushes to get her shirt over her head, to shimmy out of her jeans. She hears Oliver’s belt buckle hit the pool deck.

 

Shivers break out over her body as soon as she’s naked, bra and underwear abandoned with the rest of her clothes. She spins, wrapping her arms over herself, to face Oliver. He still has his boxers on and is watching her.

 

“Hey, no,” she says immediately, releasing one arm from around herself to point at him. “Skinny dipping means  _ all _ of it. Underwear, too.”

 

“I wasn’t gonna make that rule,” Oliver argues. “You just did that all on your own.”

 

“Want me to come over there and take them off of you?” She asks.

 

“I’m not totally opposed,” he says, but he spins away from her and shoves the boxers down his legs. She can see he’s trembling a little too, caught off guard by just how cold the night has become. He takes a few cautious steps to the edge of the pool, sits down at the edge – which she’s just realizing the pool deck must also be heated because her feet are the only things on her not freezing – and lets his legs drop into the water.

 

He lets out a sigh. “Like I said,  _ heated _ pool.”

 

And then he drops into the water. It causes a splash as he lands on his feet, his chest, shoulders and head still above the water. Felicity gets the feeling she won’t be so fortunate. Stupid, tall Oliver.

 

She eases her way to the edge of the pool, finding a shallower spot than where Oliver currently stands. Felicity tries to make her way into the water a little more gently than him, but it still ends in a sizeable splash and the bottom of her ponytail wet. At least the water is warm, so long as she never leaves it again.

 

“See?” Oliver calls from his side of the pool. “Not so bad.”

 

She glares at him, but carefully makes her way towards him. She stops when the water nearly reaches her neck and he meets her in the middle. His arms come around her under the water, curling around her ass and she realizes he wants her to wrap her legs around him. She does, leaping a little and letting her own arms come around his neck.

 

One of his hands moves up her back, tugging gently at the end of her ponytail. She pinches his shoulder, leans in and kisses him. Oliver releases her ponytail, using the hand at the back of her head to cradle it instead, angling her towards him as he returns the kiss.

 

“How was your Christmas?” She asks when they break away. Her hand roams to his hair, moving through the short, soft strands.

 

“It was good,” he shrugs, the movement shifting the water around them and creating ripples in the surface. “I kind of missed you, though.”

 

“Yeah?” She smiles, tilting her head at him. He nods. “I kinda missed you, too.”

 

And that’s bad, she figures, missing each other after only a few days with minimal contact. But they’ve spent nearly every day together for almost a month. It’s to be expected, even unavoidable maybe. But what does that mean for her when she’s on the other side of the country from him? She had been banking on not missing anyone here.

 

“So, this is skinny dipping, huh?” She asks, glancing around at the otherwise empty pool. “Kind of boring.”

 

“Ah,” Oliver nods. “That’s because the exciting part is how we warm up.”

 

“Oh, yeah?” She grins, tipping her mouth towards him again. “And how are we gonna do that?”

 

“I have a few ideas,” he says before her mouth covers his again, pressing a little more hurriedly, a little more urgently. Oliver followers her lead, his fingers kneading into her ass under the water. She hooks her ankles together at his back, squeezes his waist with her thighs.

 

As far as foreplay goes, Felicity isn’t sure if the pool elevated it or if being away from Oliver did that, but her whole body is buzzing when he pulls away and suggests they head inside. He climbs out of the pool first, offering to bring a towel to her, and leaves Felicity surprisingly cold in the water with the loss of his body heat. He grabs a towel and dries himself before wrapping up in a robe.

 

“Hold on, don’t get out yet,” he says, as if she isn’t waiting for him to bring her a towel anyway. “Let me take a picture.”

 

“Oliver, I’m naked,” she cries, instinctively crossing her arms over herself despite the height of the water around her.

 

“Relax,” he laughs, pulling the camera from her purse. “Just turn around. It’ll be nice, I promise.”

 

She sighs, but does as he asks. Behind her, she can hear him shuffling some and glances over her shoulder to find him moving her nice dry clothes into a pile with his own, right at the edge of the pool.

 

“Are you taking my picture or creating a set?” She complains.

 

“You need some patience, honey,” he says and she can tell the endearment slips out, rather than being meant as condescending name calling. She doesn’t know what to think about that, so she just turns back around.

 

The camera flashes once and she moves to turn around, to finally leave the pool, but he stops her.

 

“Let me take a second one, hold on,” he calls and she freezes, turning back around and waiting for the second flash. He meets her at the edge of the pool with a towel and one of the fluffy robes. She pulls the robe around her first, aware of the effects the cold air has on her body, and dries her legs and hair off with the towel.

 

“Did the first one not turn out?” She asks, already shivering from the cold. The photos are sitting on the pool deck next to her camera, the details already beginning to develop.

 

“No, I just,” Oliver starts, looking away from her and stopping. He bends down to retrieve the thermos of hot chocolate. 

 

Felicity moves over to the photos, making sure her hands are dry before picking them and the camera up. They look nearly the same as they develop. Oliver had moved the clothes to the foreground on the pool deck, the focus there while she wades in the pool behind them. A little out of focus but lit up by the lights coming through the pool. The steam from the heated water wafts around her.

 

Oliver joins her, looking down at the photos.

 

“I just wanted to have one,” he explains. “If that’s alright, I mean. I’d like to have something to remember you by.”

 

Felicity blinks down at the photos, unable to look at him now. Less than a week. They have less than a week before this whole thing ends and. Well, she knew that. But they haven’t confronted it, haven’t talked about it. The ticking clock that is this…  _ whatever _ they have together is suddenly at single digits and she realizes she’s just not ready for that.

 

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Of course it’s alright.”

 

Oliver nods, taking one of the photos from her. He gathers up their clothes and shoes while she tucks the camera and photo back inside her purse. She catches herself frozen again, holding her purse in both hands and watching Oliver as he balls their clothes together and snags her boots from the pool deck.

 

God, she hadn’t expect to miss him.

 

“Hey, you okay?” He asks, frowning at her as he reaches her near the door. She nods and gives an exaggerated shiver, hoping he’ll blame her sudden strangeness on the cold. It prompts him to wrap the arm not holding their clothes together around her. “Let’s get inside before we get sick, alright?”

 

She nods, letting him lead her inside. Felicity doesn’t do it on purpose, but she takes hold of the sleeve of his robe with a tight grip. And she suddenly wishes never to have to let go.

 

\---

 

Oliver is driving her home from the blood bank and Felicity has her bucket list open in her lap. ‘Donate blood’ now has a line through it on the screen, making it match most of the items on the list. There are still a handful left and she’s staring at the list and thinking about the date and wondering how they’ll possibly have time to finish everything before the new year.

 

There’s a wrapped bandage on her elbow and she can still feel the sting of the needle, though maybe it’s her imagination. Oliver had held her hand through it, encouraging her with soft words and a gentle kiss to her temple. She thinks even the nurse siphoning the blood from her veins was ready to swoon.

 

She’s about to mention it to him, the time they’re suddenly running out of, when his phone trilling beats her to the punch. He grabs it from the cup holder, glancing at the screen and giving a heavy sigh before answering. Felicity bites down on her lip, unsure of what to make of the response, and waits out the call.

 

It doesn’t take long for her to realize it’s Queen Consolidated related.

 

He speaks in clipped tones, his general demeanor changing with the call. A storm cloud has suddenly settled over the car and, even when he hangs up, she can feel it hovering. The tenseness in his shoulders doesn’t fade and he tosses the phone back in the cupholder as if it’s worth nothing. She figures, to someone like him, it might not be much of an expense to replace a broken screen, but she’s never seen him act so callously about the device before.

 

His dark mood infects her and fills her with anxiety, keeping her silent for the rest of the ride.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says once they’ve pulled into her driveway, the car stalling as they both face forwards, rather than at each other. Felicity slides her tablet into her purse and unbuckles her seatbelt. “Don’t let my bad mood sour the night, okay?”

 

“Do you even like it?” She asks, looking over at him. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked, maybe it’s beyond her place as somewhat friends with soon-to-be-ending benefits, but she can’t help herself. His brow pinches in confusion so she clarifies, “Taking over at Queen Consolidated? Do you even want to?”

 

“It’s not about like or want, Felicity,” he sighs. “It’s about expectation. It’s about carrying on my father’s legacy.”

 

“What about your legacy?” She asks. “Oliver, do you hear yourself? You said you were tagging along with me to try and figure out who you are, to be someone different. Do you really just want to be Robert Queen’s son for the rest of your life?”

 

“Hey!”

 

“I’m sorry,” she says immediately, squeezing her eyes shut. She holds her hands up, trying to ask him for a minute to formulate her words. “That came out way meaner than I meant for it to, but I think it’s a valid question. You’ve built your entire self-identity around your family’s name. Is that all you want to be for the rest of your life?”

 

“And you’ve spent your entire life distancing yourself from your family,” he counters. “So, I don’t really need you to critique my relationship with mine.”

 

Felicity sits back in her seat, feeling struck. Oliver knows about her history with her family and as much as she’d like to be mad at him for using it as ammo, hadn’t she done the same? 

 

They’ve clearly reached an impasse and she wishes she hadn’t brought it up. But, now that she has, she knows neither of them can take it back. This is what she had been afraid of, anyway. Letting him in too close, giving him new ways to hurt her.

 

“You’re right,” she says, reaching for the straps of her purse where it’s settled between her feet. “It’s not my place to talk about your family or your choices.”

 

“Felicity,” he says quietly, the apology clear on his tongue. But she’s suddenly so tired, so irritated with both of them for getting into this tonight. For getting into any of this to begin with. She doesn’t want to be stuck in this car with him.

 

“I just think that,” she starts, wanting to have the last word. Wanting to make him listen to her. “If you wanted to, you could be so much more. I think you deserve that for yourself.”

 

Oliver is silent as she climbs out of the car. She shuts the door behind her slowly, very deliberately not slamming it, and heads up the walkway to her porch. She isn’t sure what she’s expecting from him, but she just wants to make it inside without crying or yelling. He has such a maddening effect on her and it’s maybe the worst part of all of this. No one else has ever gotten under her skin quite like him.

 

Inside, she locks the door behind her and leans against it for a few moments. When her phone rings suddenly in her coat pocket, she startles and fumbles for it. Oliver’s number lights up the screen. It’s free of a contact photo. Not because she’s lacking in photos of him, sneakily taken during their adventures or while he dozes next to her, but because setting one seemed all together too real.

 

“I’m an idiot,” he says as she answers the phone, before she even says hello. She lets out a small laugh. “You’re right – you always are.”

 

“I shouldn’t have ambushed you,” she sighs, easing her purse down onto the floor. She crosses into the living room and settles onto the couch, curling up against one of the arms. “I just saw how you reacted as soon as you realized that call was work and I just… I don’t know. I want you to be able to do something that makes you happy.”

 

“I appreciate that,” he says and the soft tone of his voice tells her that he really does. “It’s just a lot more complicated than it all seems.”

 

“Well, if you feel like explaining it to me,” she says, tucking her cheek against her shoulder. “I’ll listen.”

 

Oliver is quiet for a moment.

 

“Can I come inside?”

 

Felicity frowns, sitting up straight on the couch to see out the front window. His car is still sitting in her driveway, the engine turned off, and she laughs to herself. Unsure if he can see her from the drive, she waves anyway.

 

“Meet me at the door,” she says, already pushing off the couch to head to the door and unlock it.

 

“Really?” He asks, but she hears the sound of a car door closing outside. “Because I figured I’d still owe you an apology or two for bringing up your family and for snapping at you.”

 

His level of self-awareness is a little surprising. It makes it even easier for her to forgive him. Besides, they’d both said things they shouldn’t have.

 

“You can make it up to me once you’re inside,” she assures him just as he knocks at the front door.

 

“Sounds good,” he says as she tugs the door open, the phone still at his ear. He smiles at her and they both drop their phones, Felicity ending the call on her end.

 

He steps inside and she pushes the door closed behind him.

 

“Listen,” he starts, turning to her once the door closes. “We don’t have a lot of time left before you leave. I don’t waste any of it arguing about my family’s company.”

 

“Me neither,” she says, reaching out to him. He pulls her towards him, wrapping her in his arms. Maybe the reminder of their ticking clock has made them both a little melancholy.

 

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” She asks quietly, pulling away from him. It’s still early and he may have things to do. But she wants him here. She wants to steal him away and take up as much of his time as she can while they still have it.

 

“Want me to make you dinner?” He asks which she knows is as good as an agreement. He lets go of her, already heading towards the kitchen where she knows he’ll lecture her about her lack of food. She doesn’t mind, content to watch him raid her cabinets and create something from her meager resources.

 

“Yeah,” she says, following him into the kitchen. “Dinner sounds nice.”

 

\---

 

New Year’s Eve comes sooner than she expects. At the beginning of the month, when she was counting the days to her move, it felt like it would never come. And then she’d met Oliver and, well. That’s pretty much it, isn’t it?

 

A knock at her door has her thinking it’s him. They still have things to cross off the list and he’s assured her he has a plan. He just hasn’t told her what that plan was.

 

Instead, there’s a smartly dressed delivery man holding a garment bag out to her. Taped to the front is a note with her name on it, scrawled in Oliver’s now familiar hand.

 

“From Mr. Queen,” the man explains unnecessary, because who else would send a dress to her front door hand delivered by a man in a suit and towncar?

 

“Uh, do I tip you or…?” She asks, taking the bag from him with a frown. He chuckles.

 

“No, Ms. Smoak,” he says and the over formality makes her squirm. “Mr. Queen paid me well, I promise. Have a happy new year!”

 

And then he’s turning and heading back down towards the driveway, leaving Felicity with the garment bag and note. She lays the bag gently across the kitchen table and pulls the note off of it, flipping it open.

 

_ Wear this. The car will be there at 8 tonight. Thea says to tell you she helped pick it out. _

 

He signs off with just his initials and a messy little heart that makes her chest tight. She bites down on her lip to hide the smile, placing the note on the counter to keep it from being wrinkled. There are boxes everywhere throughout her house, in various stages of filled. She’d developed an algorithm for packing to most efficiently use the space.

 

She makes a mental note to stow the note in one of the boxes.

 

She unzips the garment bag to reveal a light taupe floor length gown. Silver beading and lace underlay on the bodice makes it look modern but expensive. Felicity briefly wonders if it’s a gift she can even accept. But it’s only for one night and she knows there’s a pair of silver pumps in the box marked ‘heels’ that will go perfectly. She checks the tag and finds that it’s her size.

 

The shoes require her unpacking nearly the entire box, but she finds them and a small silver clutch to match. She goes with a dark burgundy lip stain and then, she just has to wait. Because she ends up dressed and ready to head out the door twenty minutes before the car is set to arrive. And, if she’s depending on Oliver whose perpetual tardiness she’s become accustomed to at this point, it will most likely be late.

 

It shows up at 8 o’clock on the dot and she scrambles at the last minute, nearly forgetting the camera in her haste. A black limo sits outside of her house and she laughs to herself at the ridiculous of it. She pulls on a black coat and wonders what the neighbors must think.

 

On the seat, there’s another note from Oliver telling her to enjoy the experience. He instructs her to have a glass of the chilled champagne and reminds her to take a picture. There’s a new package of film for the camera under the note. She takes his advice, popping open the bottle of champagne carefully and filling a flute with it. The photo is just a glorified selfie, but somehow everything looks more elegant on polaroid and sitting in a limousine.

 

“Excuse me,” she says, sitting forward to pull the driver’s attention. “Can you tell me where we’re going?”

 

“Sorry, ma’am,” he says, shaking his head. She catches a soft smile crinkling the corner of his eyes in the rearview mirror. “But I’m under strict orders not to give you that information.”

 

“Isn’t this how people get kidnapped?” She asks and he lets out a short laugh.

 

“Are you worried Mr. Queen may be kidnapping you?” He jokes. At her silence, he laughs again. “We’re nearly there.”

 

Felicity presses closer to the window, watching the passing buildings. She recognizes the heart of downtown Starling, sparkling and still lit up with Christmas lights. People move along the streets in various forms of dressed up and dressed down. The longer they drive, the more it racks up her anticipation. And that anticipation is quickly turning to anxiety.

 

Just as her hands have begun to shake with nerves, the car pulls to a stop in front of a familiar building. The art gallery downtown is built from the old courthouse, which means tall pillars adorn the front of it and the architecture reflects that of Ancient Greece.

 

Oliver stands outside, in front of the building, looking like he’d stepped out of a greek myth himself.

 

He fusses with his cufflinks, looking up as the limo pulls to a stop in front of him. Felicity’s door ends up right in front of him and he takes a step forward to open it for her. She holds her breath. His hand comes into view once the door is open and she takes it like an instinct, letting him guide her into a part of his world. Like the Christmas party, she feels more comfortable as soon as he’s in her immediate space.

 

“Wow,” he says, the word coming out on a long breath as she pulls out of the limo and straightens to her full height. She has to adjust her skirt to keep from stepping on it and brush her hair back out of her face. But the stricken look on his face is worth it.

 

“Yeah,” she nods twisting a little to make the skirt dance around her calves. “Thea did a good job.”

 

“It’s not the dress,” he says. “That was nothing before you were in it.”

 

She ducks her head to hide her flush and waves him off.

 

“Flatterer,” she accuses and he holds his hand out to her again. She takes it, lacing her fingers through his and stepping away from the limo. The camera strap dangles from her wrist, the plastic knocking against the beaded clutch in her hand.

 

“So, how was the limo?” He asks, leading her towards the entrance to the art gallery. “Worth the hype?”

 

She nods again, tugging on his hand to pull herself closer to his side. She assures him, “Teenaged Felicity would have been honored to ride to the prom in it.”

 

“Good,” he says as they cross the threshold into the art gallery and this time she’s the one breathing words of awe. 

 

The atrium is a wide open space, usually a lobby area for ticket sales and school groups to settle before being allowed into the galleries themselves. Now, it’s strewn with fairy lights, lit up in a soft yellow. The marble floors reflect each glittering light and people move around the space, drinking, eating, dancing. It looks like something out of a fairytale.

 

“Is this what you had in mind?” Oliver asks, referring to the entry of ‘attend a black tie affair’ on her bucket list. He’s fallen slightly behind her, dipping down to whisper the words in her ear. She nods, squeezing his hand as the short hairs of his beard scratch against her ear.

 

“It’s perfect,” she breathes.

 

It’s hours still until the new year, but waiters move around with trays of hors d’oeuvre and glasses of wine. An open bar on one end of the room offers mixed drinks. There’s soft music playing and a few older couples sway together in the center of the room.

 

“The Starling Historical Society puts this on every year to benefit the museum,” Oliver explains, nabbing two glasses of white wine off the tray of a passing waiter. He hands her one. “We always get an invite, but we usually just send a nice donation. I figured this year, it’d be perfect for our particular needs.”

 

“I guess it does pay to be Robert Queen’s son,” she says, teasingly, hoping the joke isn’t too much of a sore spot after their row a few days prior. He laughs, nodding and tilting the wine glass in his hand to his lips. She figures that’s a good sign.

 

Felicity tries not to think about the clock hanging over them, but it’s a holiday based entirely around the time of day, so it makes it hard. At some point, Oliver gently pulls her out to the dance floor, wrapping her up in his arms to sway in slow circles with the couples around them. More have joined as the night has gotten later. She can feel herself becoming melancholy.

 

Her fingers stroke over his jaw as they dance. Oliver leans down periodically, stealing short kisses under the lights. It could be absolutely perfect, everything she’d imagined as a teenager who’d skipped prom, dateless and alone. But the reality of their time coming to a close weighs on her.

 

They switch between dancing and eating, eating and drinking, back to dancing. Oliver makes pleasantries with some people he recognizes, but Felicity realizes that many of the guests aren’t the Starling City elite. She wonders if the affair is too lowkey for the Queen’s usual crowd, if most of them go the route of Oliver’s family – a sizable donation as they spend their time elsewhere.

 

He seems lighter somehow, here. No one asks about his company, even the people that recognize him well enough to pull him aside for a chat. There’s a weight that seems to have lifted from his chest. Her ego wonders if it’s her influence, her presence. Either way, it’s a nice look for him.

 

She remembers their argument and wishes he could be this way all the time.

 

“You okay?” He asks quietly, about fifteen minutes to midnight. He’d left her to find two glasses of champagne and she’d watched him cross the room, shake hands with an older couple, smile kindly at the wait staff.

 

Felicity doesn’t really know how to answer that question. Anything she could give him feels like a blatant violation of the rules she’d put in place. Her chest constricts as he frowns at her, concern coloring his features. She reaches for one of the champagne flutes and simply nods at him.

 

His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, “I haven’t shown you the best part yet.”

 

“What?” She balks as he winks at her, taking her free hand and guiding her away from the crowd. Stairs on either side of the atrium lead up to more galleries, all of which are closed off for the evening’s events. Felicity has to drop Oliver’s hand and clutch her skirt to keep from tripping up the marble steps.

 

She follows close at his side, though. He leads them up to the top platform where it branches either way into galleries. Instead of taking either path, Oliver heads straight towards a simple set of wooden doors that don’t seem open to the public. He moves like he knows where he’s going, pushing through the doors and grabbing her hand to pull her along with him.

 

It’s nothing fancy. A simple wooden furniture-adorned office. The same marble flooring carries within, though, and she can still hear the music from downstairs. The doors don’t close all the way behind them and it seems the twinkling lights were brought into this space as well.

 

“Are we supposed to be here?” She whispers, looking around the space. It seems like a private office.

 

“I may know the curator,” he explains, setting his glass down on the large wooden desk. He takes her from her as well and sets it down. “It’s all above board.”

 

His hand finds hers again, tugging her to him suddenly. She moves easily, pressing up against him as her arms come around his neck. He leads them in a slow dance again, turning in circles in the empty room to the music they can just barely hear. Any thoughts of the party downstairs being perfect are quickly replaced because, this? This is the dream.

 

They stay like this for a while. Swaying, lost in each other. Sometimes kissing, sometimes not. Their champagne sits forgotten on the desk until the sounds of a countdown reach them from downstairs. Oliver pulls away just enough to grab the glasses. He lifts his wrist, watching the seconds tick down on his watch.

 

Neither of them join the countdown. Felicity’s hand tightens around Oliver’s.

 

The calls from downstairs are cheerful, full of mirth as the new year hits and the music changes. A soft, slow version of Auld Lang Syne plays now. Oliver drops his wrist, the bright 12:00:15 disappearing from her sight.

 

“Happy New Year, Felicity,” he says and she doesn’t respond right away, but Oliver moves. He marks one last thing off of her bucket list. ‘Have a New Year’s Eve kiss.’

 

She’d always imagined it would be happier.

 

\---

 

Felicity takes a car service to the airport. She has two large suitcases and a backpack. The boxes that had littered her townhome are being driven by a moving service to her new place. It’ll be an apartment, too small for everything she owns, so she’ll have to rent a storage unit in the city. She’ll arrive a few days before her things do, so she’ll have time to get it all figured out.

 

Oliver had ridden back to her house in the limo with her, snapping more photos. He had gotten one of the waitstaff to take a photo of them as they danced, documenting the black tie affair. Their kiss had been documented on his phone, an app adding a timestamp to it to prove it was a New Year’s kiss. He’d sent it to her after he’d dropped her off, kissing her goodnight and – she’d tried not to think about it, but it was there nonetheless – goodbye.

 

It looks shockingly similar to the first picture of them she’d taken in the stairwell at Queen Consolidated. His hand was steadier than hers had been and the quality was better than her little polaroid camera, but the parallels were there nonetheless.

 

Unable to sleep, she’d marked their adventures off on the bucket list on her tablet. It marked the final strikes of the list, save for one that lingered near the bottom, above Oliver’s archery addition. She’d mostly forgotten about it, something to be left for the new year. After all, she’d need to be in love to write a love letter.

 

She dug through her boxes until she found the stationary she’d packed away with things from her office. The only pen she could find was bright, obnoxiously red. She thinks it might have been the one she’d dropped on her desk that day he’d walked into her office. That seemed fitting somehow. She’s always liked the symmetry of beginnings and endings.

 

She folds the letter up and slips it inside of the finished coloring book. The dress is zipped back inside the garment bag he’d sent it in, draped over her lap in the black sedan. She’d added a stop to her itinerary when she’d booked the car, explained to the driver she needed to drop something off at someone’s house.

 

He whistles as they head up the driveway.

 

“This is a friend of yours’ place?” He asks and she watches him take in the sight of the estate, rather than watching the towering mansion draw closer.

 

“Something like that,” she says quietly as he pulls the car to a stop. There are cars in the drive, but there are always cars in the drive. Moira is still in the mountains for another two days and Thea had spent the new year at her boyfriend’s. Oliver might be home, but she doesn’t stick around to find out. Rather, she lays the garment bag delicately on the front step, the coloring book sitting on top with the corner of her note sticking out.

 

She can see the edge of Oliver’s name, a swooping ‘R’ that she’d practiced a few times, giving way to a delicate heart. She rings the doorbell and steps off the porch, heading back to the car.

 

“Don’t you want to wait and make sure they get it?” The driver asks as she slides back into the backseat.

 

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I have a flight to catch.”

 

He doesn’t question her and she doesn’t look back.

 

\---

 

Between her flights and the initial night in her new apartment, her stress levels are off the charts for the first two days after the move. So bad that she doesn’t even realize she never heard from Oliver.

 

And then, once she does, her stress levels rise even higher. Because she knows what she wrote in that letter, had practically memorized it, and she doesn’t know what she’d expected in response. But she’d expected  _ something.  _ Maybe she’d misread him and their time together hadn’t meant as much to him as it had her.

 

In the letter, she’d told him what has friendship had meant to her, how he’d changed things the moment he followed her onto that roof. She’d thanked him and wished him well, but told him she wasn’t sure they could maintain a friendship.

 

‘I broke your only rule,’ she’d written. ‘And because of that, as long as you’re in my life, I’ll entertain the idea of maybe. And I prefer the certain pain that will inevitably fade of ‘never’, rather than the prolonged ache of ‘almost, but not quite’.’

 

So, maybe this was him honoring her wishes. Maybe she’d put a period at the end of their time together and he didn’t feel the need to start another sentence.

 

God, sleep deprivation has made her overly poetic.

 

She’d left the bulk of her furniture in Starling, and what she’d packed hasn’t arrived with the moving van yet, but the apartment had come furnished. Still, she misses her old couch as she hasn’t quite broken this one in yet.

 

Despite this, she’s laid across the entirety of the couch with her laptop on her stomach. There’s a comedy playing, but she’s only half paying attention in between fading in and out of consciousness. There are more productive things she could be doing, ways she could be preparing for the training for her new job. Instead, she’s eaten her way through half a bag of chips she bought from the corner store and made it through nearly a season of the TV show.

 

Come to think about it, her stomach kind of hurts.

 

A knock on the apartment door makes her go rigid. She hasn’t met any of her neighbors yet and she’s not particularly in the mood for a ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ type thing. For one, her snowman pajama pants aren’t exactly meant for company. She pauses the show and shuts her laptop, hoping the sound couldn’t be heard through the door, and tiptoes over to it. Pressing up on her bare toes, she peeks through the peephole into the hallway.

 

And promptly falls back from the door, pressing her hand over her mouth. Her whole body feels frozen and she thinks, for a minute, that she’s gone completely delusional during her time as a couch potato and is now seeing things.

 

There’s another knock, a little louder, followed by a quiet calling of her name. And, yeah, that’s definitely Oliver’s voice. Oh, God.

 

“Hey,” he calls again, gentler, like he knows she’s there. “I heard you turn the TV off.”

 

Damn these paper thin walls. That’s what she gets for wanting to live in affordable housing inside the city.

 

“It wasn’t the TV,” she says, moving back towards the door. She still doesn’t open it. “It was my laptop.”

 

“Of course it was,” he says, a laugh in his voice. There’s a quiet  _ thump _ and she imagines he’s let his head fall forwards against the apartment door. She leans her shoulder against it on her side.

 

“What are you doing here?” She asks.

 

“I got your letter,” he explains. “And I was gonna call you, but then I just… I really wanted to talk to you in person.” He pauses for a moment. “Although, doing this through a door feels a lot like just calling you.”

 

She hesitates another minute before pushing up off the door and sliding the chain lock out of the slide, flipping the deadbolt. The sounds give Oliver time to get off the door before she slowly pulls it open.

 

He looks like a mess. Or as much of a mess as he’s ever capable of looking. There are shadows under his eyes and his hair stands up in the back. She wonders if he’d literally just gotten off the plane.

 

“How did you find me?” She asks, frowning.

 

“I, uh, I may have paid off your old landlord for your forwarding address,” he explains, his hand coming up to rub through the back of his hair, a telltale sign of his nerves. “Which I’m really hoping sounds more romantic gesture than it does… creepy stalker.”

 

“Romantic gesture?” She echoes, knowing that’s definitely not the part she should be focusing on. But it’s not like Oliver is some guy she met at the gym who followed her home, or that lacrosse player her freshman year of college who used to stalk the halls of her residence hall hoping to run into her. This is a man she’d written a love letter to telling him she loved him and that’s why they couldn’t be friends.

 

A soft smile breaks over his face.

 

“Can I come in?”  He asks. Felicity hesitates a moment before nodding and stepping aside. He moves into the apartment, looking around. She wraps her arms around herself, self-conscious at the bare state of the apartment. “The moving van won’t get here for another day or two.”

 

“It’s nice,” he says, turning back to her. “Different, but I guess that was the point, right?”

 

She nods.

 

“Oliver, what are you doing here?” She asks again, wrapping her fingers tightly in the material of her tank top. It twists around her, wrapping her up like her nerves at the moment. He turns back to her, no longer surveying her new apartment.

 

An apartment that, until a moment ago, was at least blessedly free of memories of him.

 

“You can’t just tell me that you love me in a letter,” he says. “Tell me that you ‘broke my only rule’ and that, because of that, we can’t have any sort of relationship. Felicity, I-”

 

“I said that because it hurts!” She argues, cutting him off. “Because I told you I couldn’t get attached, that I couldn’t define myself by another person again because it’s too painful when I lose them and, here I am again. Hurting.”

 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he frowns, reaching for her. She backs away from the touch, knowing it’d be too much for her.

 

“It’s not your fault,” she says softly, looking to the floor rather than him. “I’ve never been good at casual, I knew that going into it. I just didn’t expect… I didn’t expect you.”

 

“You think I did?” He asks, throwing his hands wide in the absence of being able to hold her. “Felicity, you showed up on that rooftop and you changed everything. You challenged me and made me want to be better. Do you think I planned to fall so crazy in love with you I’d be willing to throw everything away to be with you?”

 

She falters, staring up at him in surprise.

 

“You… what?”

 

He takes a deep breath and she thinks maybe the sincerity of his words has surprised even him. When he reaches out to her again, she doesn’t shy away this time. Instead, she lets him lace his fingers through hers.

 

“I’m so in love with you, Felicity,” he says, softer now. She wonders if her neighbors have heard them, if she’ll be building gossip. “I think I was before I kissed you that first time. So, I knew, going in, that this was going to hurt. But I thought the pain would be worth it.”

 

“Was it?” She asks on a whisper. A shaky smile breaks over his features and he squeezes her hand, not quite answering the question.

 

“You told me you thought I deserved more, that I deserved to find something that made me happy,” he says and she nods, remembering the argument in the car. “You make me happy and I think, I hope, I make you happy, too. I’m not ready to just give up on that yet.”

 

“So, what?” She sighs, pulling her hand out of his. She moves to run it through her hair, remembers the messy bun and simply smooths it over her roots instead. “We do the long distance thing, which will just suck and make us both miserable and miss each other? And then just delay that pain for a while until we inevitably break it off?”

 

“And here I thought you were the optimist of us,” he jokes.

 

“I’m a realist,” she pouts.

 

“I’m not talking about long distance,” he says, taking a more serious tone. “I’m talking about me coming here to be with you. I’m talking about trying this for real, not with one foot out the door.”

 

“What about your family? The company?” She asks. “I can’t ask you to give all of that up for me.”

 

“You’re not asking,” he argues. “I’m choosing. I’m choosing to be with you, to take a chance at actually being happy. I’m choosing to do something for me, not because of how it affects my father’s legacy. And… I don’t know. I hope he’d understand that.”

 

She stares at him for a moment, mouth open and brow furrowed, trying to understand what he’s telling her.

 

“Are you… Oliver, are you serious about this?”

 

He nods, smiling at her. He takes both her hands this time, stepping up to her. She lets herself be pulled into his orbit, swaying towards him as he stares down at her with hope reflecting in his eyes. She doesn’t know that she’s seen that before, but it’s beautiful on him.

 

“Give me a month,” he says quietly. “Just one month to get things figured out in Starling. I can’t leave the company without someone to take over, so I’ll have to find a headhunter and pick my replacement but… I’m still gonna be in love with you in a month.”

 

She shivers at the words, new and exciting but somehow comfortable, familiar. The apartment suddenly feels homier, warmer with him in it. Like she hadn’t fully moved in yet, like it had been waiting for him to come and make it a home. Maybe that’s just what she’d been doing.

 

“Do you,” he starts, looking down at their entwined hands. She recognizes the nerves in his voice. “Do you think you’ll still want me in a month, too?”

 

“Oliver, I’ve never felt this before for someone,” she admits quietly, frowning at the reality in her words. It’s love, she knows, but that feels wrong, small. She’s only known him a month, but what she feels for him it’s… indescribable. “It’s a little terrifying, but I think I’ll always want you.”

 

“It doesn’t have to be terrifying,” he says. “Not if I’ll always be here.”

 

“Promise?” She asks, wondering if her eyes reflect back some of that hope he’d been giving her a minute ago.

 

Oliver doesn’t respond. Instead, he holds his hand up, balled tight in a fist with just his pinky sticking up. Felicity lets out a surprised laugh and hooks her own pinky around his, giving it a firm shake. He uses the leverage of it to pull her against him and cover her mouth with his.

 

There’s no rules, no contract this time. When Oliver kisses her it feels new, like the first time. But it also feels like coming home after a long time away, finding a safe space to be wanted, to feel loved. This is the exact opposite of what she’d been wanting to happen when she’d outlined those rules that cold night under the stars.

 

But maybe it’s exactly what she needed. After all, it’s a new year, now. The universe has a way of working things out just how they’re supposed to be.

 

Although, she’s definitely going to need a new list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay new year, back to black water. you can find some updates about fic stuff at my twitter (twitter.com/smoakscreenfics) and just general dctv stuff at my tumblr (spartandiggle.tumblr.com) PLUS i make aesthetic pinterest boards for most of my fics instead of actually writing them and you can find that at pinterest.com/midwestwind
> 
> god. can you tell it's 2am? i should sleep...


End file.
